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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



WILLIAM COWPER. 

WITH LIFE, 
AXD CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS WRITINGS. 



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387270 
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THE 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEH 



William Cowper was bom on the 26th of November 1731, 
at Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire, of which village his father, 
the Rev. John Cowper, was rector. He was of noble ances- 
try, and many of his immediate relatives moved in the 
upper ranks of life. His mother, Ann Donne, a daughter 
of Roger Donne, Esq., of Ludham Hall in Norfolk, died 
when lie was only six years of age, leaving two children, 
— William, the subject of this memoir, and a younger 
brother, John. Her affection and tenderness made a deep 
impression on his young mind. Fifty years afterwards, on 
receiving her picture, he dwells as fondly on the cherished 
features as if he had just mourned her death. He writes 
to his cousin, Mrs Bodham, who had sent him the portrait — 
"I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a 
trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I 
should have felt had the dear original presented herself to 
my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it where it is the last 
object that I see at night, and, of course, the first on which 
I open my eyes in the morning." His feelings, indeed, were 
all of the intense kind. " I never received a little pleasure 
from anything in my life," he writes ; " if I am pleased, it is 
in the extreme." 

Few incidents of his early life have been preserved, and 
much obscurity rests on the circumstances which made him 
a stranger from his father's house almost immediately after 
his mother's death. Though his father lived to the year 
1756, Cowper appears never to have lived at home, except 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 



ing for a brief period of nine months, when he was eighteen 
years of age. 

When only six years of age, he was sent to the school of 
Dr Pitman, in Market Street, on the borders of Hertfordshire. 
Here he continued two years — a period embittered by the 
eruelty of a boy of fifteen years of age, " whose savage 
treatment," says Cowper, " impressed such a dread of his 
figure upon my mind, that I well remember being afraid 
to lift up my eyes upon him higher than his knees; and 
that I knew him by his shoe-buckles bettor than any other 
part of his dress." It is characteristic of the gentle spirit 
of the poet, that he refrains from mentioning the name of 
his persecutor. 

In consequence of an affection in the eyes which threat- 
ened to deprive him of sight, he was sent to an eminent 
oculist in London, in whose house he remained until he 
was ten years of age, when he had so far recovered as 
to be able to attend Westminster School. An attack of 
small-pox, three years afterwards, completed the resto- 
ration of his eyesight. At Westminster he continued till 
he was eighteen, having acquired a considerable know 
ledge of the Latin and Greek classics. He was then appren- 
ticed for three years to an attorney ; but, in an uncongenial 
employment, and under a careless master, he derived few 
advantages from his situation. " I was bred to the law," 
he writes ; " a profession to which I was never much 
inclined, and in which I engaged, rather because I was 
desirous to gratify a most indulgent father, than because I 
had any hope of success in it myself." " I did actually live 
three years with Mr Chapman, a solicitor," he says ; " there 
was I and the future Lord Chancellor" (Thurlow) "con- 
stantly employed, from morning to night, in giggling and 
making giggle, instead of studying the law." 

It was at this period that he formed an attachment to his 
cousin, Theodora Cowper, the sister of Lady Hesketh, to 
whom so many of his letters are addressed. Though this 
affection was returned, obstacles, arising from her father's 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEB. 



aversion to the marriage of parties so nearly related, and 
from his own limited income, prevented their union. She 
was never married, and lived until the year 1824. 

On leaving Mr Chapman, he took chambers in the Inner 
Temple, London, where he lived for twelve years. Here, 
instead of devoting himself to the study of the law, he 
yielded to the natural bent of his disposition, and amused 
himself with literature, and occasionally contributed verses 
and essays (none of which are now known) to the periodi- 
cals of the day. 

Shortly after entering the Temple, the first symptoms of 
that malady appeared irom which he was destined to suffer 
so dreadfully. " I was struck," he says, " with such a dejec- 
tion of spirits, as none but they who have felt the same can 
have the least conception of. Day and night I was upon 
the rack, lying down in horror, and rising up in despair." 
This despondency lasted for nearly twelve months. 

Cowper's melancholy has been attributed to his religious 
views; but at this time he was entirely ignorant of true re- 
ligion. Men of science in modern times will not hazard the 
tmphilosophical opinions which were once entertained on 
this subject; derangement is now understood to be a disease 
which has its principal seat in the nervous system, and in 
which accident determines the particular mental delusion 
by which the patient is oppressed. 

When thirty-one years of age, he was appointed reading- 
clerk and clerk of the private committees of the House of 
Lords, a situation which he resigned for the inferior post of 
clerk of the journals in the same house of parliament. 
This appointment seemed at first to afford him considerable 
pleasure. u If I succeed," he writes to Lady Hesketh, "in 
this doubtful piece of promotion, I shall have at least this 
satisfaction to reflect upon, that the volumes I write will be 
treasured up with the utmost care for ages, and will last as 
long as the English constitution, a duration which ought to 
satisfy the vanity of any author who has a spark of love for 
his countrv." 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



These prospects were destroyed by a party dispute, regard* 
ing the right of appointment, which rendered it necessary 
that he should appear at the bar of the House of Lords. 
The idea of appearing in such a situation entirely unhinged 
his mind, and drove him to repeated attempts to commit 
suicide. His friends, on learning his condition, immediately 
surrendered the appointment ; and, as his malady still con- 
tinued, put him under the care of Dr Cotton, in St Alban's, a 
physician equally fitted to minister to the mind and the 
body. With him he remained for two years. It is from 
this period he dates his conversion. His religious education 
had been almost entirely neglected. He had made himself 
acquainted with the evidences of Christianity, but was 
ignorant of Christianity itself. So early as his schoolboy 
days at Market Street, indeed, he had serious impressions 
on his mind, which returned very vividly at intervals while 
in the Temple ; but until now, he was without any clear 
understanding of the nature of the gospel as a proclamation 
of mercy from God to sinners through Christ Jesus, and 
had no personal experience of its power to confer peace. 

From St Alban's he removed to lodgings in Huntingdon. 
The chief recommendation of Huntingdon was, that being 
within fifteen miles of Cambridge, he was enabled to meet 
once a week with his brother John, a young man of great ex- 
cellence ; but it was too dull a residence to detain him long, 
had Providence not thrown in his way the family of the 
Unwins, whose friendship proved the greatest happiness of 
his life. To their mutual satisfaction, he became a boarder 
in the family, which at this time consisted of Mr Unwin 
and his wife, their son and daughter. Cowper thus describes 
his first impressions of them : — " The old gentleman is a 
man of learning and good sense, and as simple as Parson 
Adams. His wife has a very uncommon understanding, 
has read much to good purpose, and is more polite than a 
duchess. The son, who belongs to Cambridge, is a most 
amiable young man ; and the daughter quite of a piece with 
the rest of the family." There must have been something 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. Vli 

remarkably attractive about Cowper, for, with all his shy- 
ness, he had more and better friends than almost any 
poet we could name. To know him was to love him, and 
few loved him by halves ; indeed, the devotion paid to him 
partook more of the mingled respect and affection which 
is rendered to an accomplished female than what are enjoyed 
by his sex. With the Unwins he lived on the most cordial 
terms. " I am much happier," he writes to Major Cowper, 
" than the day is long, and sunshine and candle-light alike 
see me perfectly contented." 

No certain information has been obtained of his means of 
subsistence. He inherited some money from his father; 
and a subscription made at this time by his friends placed 
him in comfortable circumstances. It is believed that Miss 
Theodora Cowper privately contributed fifty pounds a year. 
He does not seem to have obtained much for the copyright 
of his poems. The crown granted him £300 a year in 
1794 ; but too late to be of much advantage. 

The sudden death of Mr Unwin, by a fall from his horse, 
caused the removal of the Unwins from Huntingdon; and 
Cowper removed with them. The Rev. John Xewton, 
whose acquaintance they had recently made, engaged for 
them a house in Olney, to which they removed in October 
1767. The warmest friendship grew out of this connexion ; 
there was a private passage between the vicarage and the 
house in which they lived, and seven hours, we are told, 
rarely passed without the two families being together. 
Here Cowper spent two or three years in great comfort. 
His employments were various, — he learned to draw, he cul- 
tivated flowers, and he handled the tools of the carpenter 
with considerable address. " There is not a squire in all 
the country," he writes, " who can boast of having made 
better squirrel-houses, hutches for rabbits, or bird-cages, 
than myself. I had even the hardiness to take in hand the 
pencil. Many figures were the fruit of my labours, which 
had at least the merit of being unparallelled by any produc- 
tion of art or nature." And he talks of sending " tables, 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



such as they were, and joint-stools, such as never were." 
Three hares which he tamed afforded him much amuse- 
ment. His account of them, which was inserted in the 
Gentleman's Magazine, has often been reprinted. He also 
visited the houses of the villagers, administering spiritual 
counsel and relieving the wants of the poor, which he was 
the better enabled to do from a fand placed at his disposal 
by the benevolent Thornton, so celebrated for his philan- 
thropy. At the suggestion of Newton, he began his contri- 
butions to that collection so well known as the u Olney 
Hymns." These were commenced in the year 1771, but, 
owing to a return of the melancholy disease under which he 
laboured, not completed till 1779. 

The death of his brother, to whom he was warmly at- 
tached, and which took place in 1770, has been supposed to 
furnish the cause of the new attack of his malady; but 
he never was entirely free from it, — his mind was like 
the coast of Holland, which requires the embankments to 
be constantly renewed to exclude the encroachments of the 
tide ; and it is scarcely worth while, when so many causes 
were in operation, to ask which was the greatest. The attack 
lasted for four years, during which he was watched by Mrs 
Unwin with a self-devotion and tenderness which happily 
found its reward in seeing him restored to the full measure 
of his former powers, though it left him with weakened 
nerves and a constant tendency to relapse into moodiness. 
Thus, after Newton had left Olney for London, he writes — 
" It is no attachment to the place that binds me here, but an 
unfitness for every other. I lived in it once, but now I am 
buried in it, and have no business with the world on the 
outside of my sepulchre." 

Cowper had now reached the age of fifty, and was as yet 
unknown to the world. " A few light and agreeable poems, 
two hymns written at Huntingdon, with about sixty others 
composed at Olney, are almost the only known poetical 
productions of his pen between the years 1749 and 1780." 
The long perMip stream of his genius was now to break 



LIFE OF WILLIAM. COWPEB. IX 

out. At the suggestion of Mrs Unwin, he wrote " Table 
Talk/' the first poem in the present collection of his works, 
to which were afterwards added, u The Progress of Error," 
" Truth," " Expostulation," " Hope," " Charity," " Conver- 
sation," and " Retirement." These were all written in little 
more than a year, and were published in one volume in 
1781. It met with a favourable reception from the critics 
of the day, and slowly found its way into the esteem of the 
public. The vein thus opened was not allowed to remain 
unwrought. " Dejection of spirits," he informs Lady Hes- 
keth, " which may have prevented many a man from becom- 
ing an author, made me one. I find constant employment 
necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly em- 
ployed." "When I can find no other occupation, I think; 
and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence 
it comes to pass, that the season of the year which generally 
pinches off the flowers of poetry unfolds mine, such as they 
are, and crowns me with a wintry garland." 

About this time he formed an acquaintance with a highly- 
accomplished woman, Lady Austen ; she was wealthy, had 
seen much of the world, and possessed a liveliness of 
manner which charmed away his melancholy. After three 
years' intimacy, this friendship was unfortunately broken up 
by the not unnatural jealousy of Mrs Unwin, who was afraid it 
might end in a nearer connexion. To Lady Austen we owe 
the amusing ballad of " John Gilpin," and his great poem the 
" Task." A merry tale which she told to amuse the poet was 
the groundwork of the first; it soon became a universal 
favourite, though few suspected the melancholy Cowper to 
be the author. Surprise has been expressed that it should 
have been written while suffering from despondency; but it is 
the very nature of this disease to admit of violent alterna- 
tions from the liveliest gaiety to the deepest gloom. 

The "Task" was begun in the summer of 1783, and 
completed before the close of 1784. Lady Austen, who, 
as an admirer of Milton, was partial to blank verse, had 
often solicited Cowper to try his power in that species of 



LIFE OP WILLIAM COWPER. 



composition. To his objection that he knew of no suitable 
subject, she replied, " Oh, you can never be in want of a sub- 
ject — you can write upon any; write upon this sofa." The 
idea struck him, he took up the pen and began, — 

"I sing the Sofa, I who lately sung 
Faith, Hope, and Charity." 

The poem thus casually suggested grew into six books, 
and is deservedly the most popular of his larger poems. 
Many passages in his first volume are not inferior to the 
best pieces of the "Task; "but in the "Task" he takes a 
wider range, and flies with freer and bolder wing. 

This work brought him into immediate notice, and drew at- 
tention to his former publications. Hi3 attached cousin, Lady 
Hesketh, who had been abroad, hastened to renew her corre. 
spondence. His letters to her are the most finished and de- 
lightful specimens of epistolary writing in the language. The 
strong aversion which John Foster expressed to composition 
was unknown to Cowper. He wrote from choice, and was 
quite capable of extracting amusement from the most trivial 
incidents of daily life; so that, though he was almost a re- 
cluse in his habits, and his letters sometimes embraced no 
other subjects than the death of a viper, or the loss of one of 
his hares, or the overturning of a market-woman's cart, they 
are full of wit and sensibility. Lady Hesketh proved a most 
valuable friend. Finding his residence at Olney neither 
commodious nor cheerful, she rented and furnished for him 
a house bordering on a handsome park at the neighbouring 
village of Western Underwood, and throughout his life her 
purse and her services were always at his disposal. He says 
touchingly, on leaving Olney — " I found that I not only had 
a tenderness for that ruinous abode, because it had once 
known me happy in the presence of God, but that even the 
distress I had suffered for so long time on account of His 
absence, had endeared it to me as much." 

In 1785 he began a translation of Homer's Poems, and 
worked with great assiduity and pleasure at the task. It 



LIF£ OF WILT J AM OOWPEB. xl 

was finished in 1790, and published in two quarto volumes 
in 1791. He next undertook to edit an edition of Milton's 
Poetical Works, and with this view translated his Latin 
Poems ; but the work was never completed. A poem, entitled 
" The Seven Ages," was begun, but only a few lines were 
written. His beautiful lines to Mrs Unwin, beginning — 

64 The twentieth year is well nigh past 
Since first onr sky was overcast ; 
Ah, that this might he the last, 

My Mary "— 

and his lines " On Eeceipt of his Mother's Picture," were 
written at this period, and exhibit the unabated force of his 
mind and imagination. 

Of the remainder of his life we have little to record. 
Mrs Unwin fell into an infirm state of health, and his own 
mind became extremely depressed. Lady Hesketh flew to 
his help, and he rallied so far as to be able to visit his bio- 
grapher, Hayley ; but he soon relapsed. His relation, Dr 
Johnson, removed him from Weston to North Tudderham 
in Norfolk, and from thence to various places, for change 
of air and scene, but without perceptible advantage to his 
health. In. 1796, Mrs Unwin died. " In the dusk of the 
evening of her death, he attended Dr Johnson to survey 
the corpse, and after looking a very few moments, he started 
suddenly away, with a vehement but unfinished sentence of 
passionate sorrow. He spoke of her no more." Dr John- 
son's attentions to him were never surpassed in delicacy 
and self-denial. Any other man would have shrunk from 
undertaking the charge of an infirm hypochondriac, who 
rarely spoke, and seemed to derive no pleasure from either 
the world or religion. 

The cloud which had now settled over his intellect was 
never removed. He had long lived under the delusion, that 
the mercy of God, which is free to all the world besides, was 
denied to him. There were momentary intervals in which 
a ray of hope gleamed upon his mind, but they were tran« 



Xll 



LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



sitory; and it is melancholy to record, that that hope of 
which he had sung so sweetly to others was denied to him- 
self in his last hours. But though the nature of his disease 
had banished hope from his mind, his life and writings 
prove that he had long rested his faith on Christ Jesus as 
his Saviour, and warrant the assurance that death translated 
him to eternal glory. His death took place on the 25th 
April 1800. He was buried in St Edmund's Chapel, in the 
Church of East Dereham. Lady Hesketh erected a marble 
tablet to his memory. 

" Cowper," says Hayley, " was of a middle stature, rather 
strong than delicate in the form of his limbs ; the colour of 
his hair was a light brown, that of his eyes a bluish-gray, 
and his complexion ruddy." In manner he was reserved, 
but to females he was extremely engaging. His character 
was a singular compound of strength and delicacy. Manly 
in his thoughts and writings, he was almost a woman in the 
readiness with which he surrendered himself to the direc- 
tion of others in matters of business. With a keen sense 
of the ludicrous and a sharp pen, he never willingly wounded 
a single human being ; and, rigid himself in his attention to 
virtue and piety, he judged the actions of other men in a 
spirit of the most liberal charity. 

Cowper's Poems need no panegyric of ours ; they have 
taken a permanent place among the literary treasures of the 
English language. They were the genuine utterance of his 
own heart; and their manly thought, vigour, and simpli- 
city, their mingled humour and pathos, the variety and the 
felicity of their descriptions of men and things, and the 
elevated strain of Christian sentiment by which they are 
pervaded, have secured their popularity while our language 
endures. 



Edinburgh, June 1, 1853. 



CONTENTS. 






PAGE 


Table Talk . . 


1 


The Progress of Errok • « 


16 


Truth . . • « 


28 


Expostulation . 


. 40 


Hope ....... 


54 


Charity ....... 


69 


Conversation ...,., 


82 


Retirement ...... 


100 


The Task :— 




Advertisement • * » . 


116 


Book I. The Sofa . . , . 


. 117 


„ II. The Time-piece • 


. 132 


„ III. The Garden 


. 148 


„ IV. The Winter Evening 


164 


„ V. The Winter Morning Walk , 


. 179 


„ VI. The Winter Walk at Noon . 


. 196 


Tirocinium ; or, a Review of Schools » • 


, 216 


The Olnet Hymns : — 




1. Walking with Grod . . . • 


. 234 


2. Jehovah-jireh. The Lord will Provide 


. 234 


3. Jehovah-rophi. I am the Lord that Healeththee 


. 235 


4. Jehovah-nissi. The Lord my Banner 


. 236 


5. Jehovah-shalom. The Lord send Peace . 


. 236 


6. Wisdom ..... 


. 237 


7. Vanity of the World 


. 238 


8. Lord, I will praise thee . 


. 238 


9. The Contrite Heart 


. 239 


10. The future Peace and Grlory of the Church 


. 239 


11. Jehovah our Righteousness 


. 240 


12. Ephraim Repenting 


. 240 



Xlf CONTENTS. 


The Olney Hymns — Continued. 


PAG 8 


13. The Covenant • , 


. 241 


14. Jehovah-shaminah . e 


. 241 


15. Praise for the Fountain opened . , 


. 242 


16. The Sower . 


. 242 


17. The House of Prayer 


. 243 


18. Lovest thou Me] . 


, 243 


19. Contentment .... 


. 244 


20. Old Testament Gospel 


. 245 


21. Sardis . 


. 245 


22. Prayer for a Blessing on the Young 


. 246 


23. Pleading for and with Youth 


. 246 


24. Prayer for Children 


. 247 


25. Jehovah Jesus 


. 248 


26. On opening a Place for Social Prayer 


. 248 


27. Welcome to the Table . 


. 249 


28. Jesus hasting to Suffer 


. 249 


29. Exhortation to Prayer 


. 250 


30. The Light and Glory of the Word . 


. 250 


31. On the Death of a Minister 


. 251 


32. The Shining Light 


. 251 


33. Seeking the Beloved 


. 251 


34. The Waiting Soul . 


. 252 


35. Welcome Cross 


. 253 


36. Afflictions Sanctified by the Word 


. 253 


37. Temptation 


. 254 


38. Looking upwards in a Storm 


. 254 


39. The Valley of the Shadow of Death 


. 255 


40. Peace after a Storm 


. 255 


41. Mourning and Longing 


. 256 


42. Self-acquaintance . 


. 256 


43. Prayer for Patience . 


. 257 


44. Submission 


. 257 


45. The Happy Change 


. 258 


46. Retirement . « 


. 259 


47. The Hidden Life 


. 259 


48. Joy and Peace in Believing . , 


. 260 


49. True Pleasures . 


. 260 


50. The Christian 


. 261 


51. Lively Hope and Gracious Fear 


. 261 


52. For the Poor 


. 262 


53. My Soul Thirsteth for God 


. 262 



CONTENTS. XV 



264 
264 
265 
265 
266 
267 
267 
268 
268 
269 



The Olney Hymns — Continued. paqb 

54. Love Cod straining to Obedience . . . 263 

55. The Heart Healed and Changed by Mercy . 263 

56. Hatred of Sin 

57. The New Convert . 

58. True and False Comforts 

59. A Living and a Dead Faith 

60. Abuse of the Grospel 

61. The Narrow Way . 

62. Dependence 

63. Not of Works 

64. Praise for Faith 

65. Grace and Providence 
QQ. I will Praise the Lord at all times • • 269 

67. Longing to be with Christ . • • .270 

68. Light Shining out of Darkness • • • 2/0 

Miscellaneous Poems : — 

An Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. . . . 272 

The Yearly Distress, or Tithing Time at Stock in 

Essex 273 

Sonnet addressed to Henry Cowper, Esq., on his 

emphatical and interesting delivery of the Defence of 

Warren Hastings, Esq., in the House of Lords . 275 
Lines addressed to Dr Darwin, Author of The Botanic 

Garden ...... 275 

On Mrs Montagu's Feather-hangings . . .276 

Verses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk 

during his solitary abode in the island of Juan 

Fernandez . . . . . .277 

On observing some names of little note recorded in the 

Biographia Britannica .... 278 

Report of an Adjudged Case, not to be found in any 

of the Books ...... 278 

On the Promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq., to the 

Lord High Chancellorship of England . . 279 

Ode to Peace . . . . . .280 

Human Frailty . . . • • 280 

The Modern Patriot . . . . .281 

On the Burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, together 

with his MSS., by the Mob, in the Month of June 

1780 ....... 281 



AVi CONTENTS. 



Miscellaneous Poems — Continued. paqb 

On the same ..... c 281 

The Love of the World Reproved . . .282 

On the Death of Mrs (afterwards Lady) Throckmorton's 

Bullfinch . . . .283 

The Rose 284 

The Doves 285 

A Fable 285 

Ode to Apollo on an Inkglass almost dried in the Sun 286 
A Comparison . 287 

Another Comparison ..... 287 
The Poet's New Year's Gift to Mrs (afterwards Lady) 

Throckmorton . . . . .287 

Pairing Time Anticipated. A Fable . . .288 

The Dog and the Water Lily. No Fable . . 289 

The Winter Nosegay . . . • .290 

The Poet, the Oyster, and Sensitive Plant . . 291 

The Shrubbery 292 

Mutual Forbearance necessary to the Happiness of the 

Married State . . . . .295 

The Negro's Complaint .... 294 

Pity for Poor Africans » • . . 295 

The Morning Dream . . . . .296 

The Diverting History of John Gilpin . . 297 

The Nightingale and Glowworm . . . 303 

An Epistle to an Afflicted Protestant Lady in France 303 
To the Rev. W. Cawthorne Unwin . . .304 

To the Rev. Mr Newton. An Invitation into the 

Country ..... .305 

Catharina. Addressed to Miss Stapleton (afterwards 

Mrs Courtney) . . . . .306 

Catharina : the Second Part. On her Marriage to 

George Courtenay, Esq. .... 359 

The Moralizer Corrected. A Tale . . .307 

The Faithful Bird . . . . .308 

The Needless Alarm. A Tale . . .309 

Boadicea. An Ode . . . . .311 

Heroism . . . . . .312 

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk 314 
Friendship . . . . . .316 

On a Mischievous Bull, which the Owner of him 

Sold at the Author's instance . . .321 



CONTENTS. 



Miscellaneous Poems — Continued* page 

Annus Memorabilis, 1789 — written in Commemoration 

of His Majesty's Happy Recovery . . . 322 

A Hymn for the use of the Sunday-school at Olney 323 

Stanzas subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of 
the Paiish of All-Saints, Northampton, Anno Domini 
1787 . . . . . .324 

On a Similar Occasion, for the Year 1788 . . 325 

On a Similar Occasion, for the Year 1789 . . 326 

On a Similar Occasion, for the Year 1790 . . 326 

On a Similar Occasion, for the Year 1792 . .327 

On a Similar Occasion, for the Year 1/93 . .328 

On a Goldfinch Starved to Death in his Cage . . 329 

The Pine-apple and the Bee .... 330 

Verses Written at Bath, on Finding the Heel of a Shoe 330 
An Ode, on Reading Richardson's History of Sir 
Charles Cfrandison .... 331 

An Epistle to Robert Lloyd, Esq. . . . 332 

A Tale, founded on a Fact, which happened in January 

1779 334 

To the Rev. Mr Newton, on his Return from Ramsgate 335 
Love Abused ..... 335 

A Poetical Epistle to Lady Austen . . . 336 

TheColubriad . . . . .338 

Song. On Peace . . . . .339 

Sung 339 

Verses selected from an occasional Poem entitled Vale- 
diction . . . . . .340 

Epitaph on Dr Johnson .... 341 

To Miss C , on her Birthday . . .341 

Gratitude . . . . . .341 

Lines composed for a Memorial of Ashley Cowper, 

Esq. 342 

On the Queen's Visit to London, 17th March 1789 . 343 
The Cock-fighter's Garland . . . .345 

To Warren Hastings, Esq. .... 346 
To Mrs Throckmorton, on her Beautiful Transcript of 

Horace's Ode, " Ad Librum Suum" . . 347 
To the Immortal Memory of the Halibut . . 347 
Inscription for a Stone erected at the Sowing of a 
Grove of Oaks at Chillington, the Seat of T. Giffard, 
Esq., 1790 348 






MisczLL-i.rzrus Posies — Contir. fagi 

Another Inscription for a Stone Erected on a Similar 

Occasion at the same place in the follow! 348 

To Mrs King, on her kind Present to the Author, a 

Patchwork Counterpane of her own Making . 348 

In Memory of the late John Thornton. E . 3^9 

The Four Ages. (A brief fragment of an extensive pro- 
jected Poem) ..... 350 

The Retired Cat 35] 

The Judgment of the Poets .... 353 

Yardley Oak 354 

To the Nightingale, which the Author heard Sing on 
New Year's Day . . . . .357 

Lines "Written in an Album of Miss Patty More's, 
Sister of Hannah More .... 353 

Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq. . . . 358 

Epigram printed in the Northampton Mercury . 353 

To Dr Austin, of Cecil Street, London . . 359 

Epitaph on Fop, a Dog belonging to Lady Throck- 
morton . * . . . . .30 

Sonnet to George Romuey, Esq. . - . . 360 

Mary and John ..... 360 

Epitaph ter, of Chicheley . . .31 

To my Cousin, Anne Bodham, on Receiving from her 

a Network Purse made by herself . . . 361 

Inscription for a Hermitage in the Author's Garden . 361 

Mrs Unwin . . . . . .361 

To John Johnston, Esq., on his Presenting me wi 
an Antique Bust of Homer . . . .32 

To a Young Friend, on his Arrivir.. 

when no rain had fallen there . . . 362 

On a Spaniel, called Beau, Killing a Young Bird . 362 
Beau's Reply ...... 363 

Inscription for the Tomb of Mr Hamilton . 363 

To TVilliam Hayley, Esq. . . .364 

On Flaxman's Penelope . . . . Z'A 

To the Spanish Admiral Count Gravina, on his Trans- 
lating the Author's Song on a Rose into Italian 
Terse 



xix 



1 Mis:ELijLyEors Poejis — Continued. fxge 

Epitaph on a Hare .... 

The Bird's Nest. A Tale 

To Mary (Mrs Unwin) . . • 

The Castaway . • 

To Sir Joshua Reynolds .... 370 

On the Author of Letters on Literature . . 371 

The Distressed I ; or, Labour in Vain . 371 

Stanzas on the late Indecent Liberties taken with the 
Remains of Milton .... 

To the Eev. William Bull . . . .373 

:aph on Mrs M. Hig; 

net to a Young Lady on her Birthday . . 375 

On a Mistake :: Efamer . . 375 

On the Benefit re:e:v-i by Hia I rom Sea- 

bathing in the Year 1759 .... 375 

Addressed to Miss r for In- 

difference, an Ode, by lira Gh . . 376 

From a I -ion, late Rector of 

St Mary Woolnoth . . . . .375 

The Ratting Mill. An D . . . 379 

itaph on a Free but Tame Redbreast , . 379 

vTUliam Hayley, Baq. 
An Epitaph . . . . . . ZSO 

On Receiving Hayley's Pi:: . . .381 

On a Plant r a 

eat . . . . . .381 

s'a Vir.il from Mr H;; . 3S1 

Lines Enfant .... 381 

izas addressed to Lady 
ert Reply . . . . .382 

Lines addressed to Miss Theodora Jane Cowper . 3 ;, 2 

T: the same ..... 

Lines ....... 353 

Inscription for a Moss-house in 

. 384 
a on the Death :: Sir William Russel . . 354 

Extract from a Sunday-school Hymn . .354 

7 Mra N .... 

Verses printed by himself, on a Flood at 01 355 

On the Receipt of a Hamper . . . BS6 



CONTENTS. 



Miscellaneous Poems — Continued. pagb 

On the Neglect of Homer . . . .386 

On the High Price of Fish . . . .386 

On the Ice Islands seen floating in the German Ocean 387 

Verses to the Memory of Dr Lloyd . . .388 

The Poplar Field 388 

The Lily and the Rose . . . .389 

On the Loss of the Royal George . . . 390 

Li tin Poems : — 

Montes Glaciales, in Oceano Germanico Natantes . 391 
Monumental Inscription to William Northcot . 392 

Translation . . . . . .392 

In Seditionem Horrendam, corrruptelis Gallicis, ut 

fertur, Londini nuper exortam • . . 392 

Translation . . . . . .393 

Motto on a Clock . . . . .393 

A Simile Latinized . 393 

Verses to the Memory of Dr Lloyd . . . 393 

Populetum ...... 394 

Lilium atque Rosa ..... $94 

In Submersionem Navigii, cui Georgius Regale nomen 
inditum ...... 395 

Votum . . . . . . .396 

Epitaphium Alteram ..... 396 

Latin Translations : — 

Simile in Paradise Lost .... 397 

Translation of Dryden's Epigram on Milton . . 397 

Translation of Prior's Chloe and Euphelia . . 397 
Translation from the Fables of Gay : — 

Lepus Mnltis Amicus .... 398 

Avarus et Plutus ..... 399 
Papilio et Limax . . . . .400 

Translations from the French of Madame de la 
Mothe Guion : — 

The Nativity 401 

God neither Kno^vn nor Loved by the World . 404 

The Swallow . . . . . .405 

A Figurative Description of the Procedure of Divine 
Love in bringing a Soul to the point of Self-renuncia- 
tion and Absolute Acquiescence . . . 406 



CONTENTS. 



xxi 



Translations from the French of Madame de la 
Mothe Gtjion — Continued. page 

The Triumph of Heavenly Love desired . . 406 

A Child of God Longing to see Him Beloved . . 408 

Aspirations of the Soul after Gfod . . . 409 

Gratitude and Love to God .... 410 

Happy Solitude — Unhappy Men . . . 410 

Living "Water . . . . . .411 

Truth and Divine Love Rejected by the World . 411 

Divine Justice Amiable . . . 411 

The Soul that Loves God finds Him everywhere . 412 

The Testimony of Divine Adoption . . 413 

Divine Love endures no Rival . . .414 

Self-diffidence 415 

The Acquiescence of Pure Love . . .415 

Repose in God ...... 416 

Glory to God alone ..... 416 

Self-love and Truth Incompatible . . .417 

The Love of God the End of Life . . .418 

Love Faithful in the Absence of the Beloved . . 418 

Love Pure and Fervent .... 418 

The Entire Surrender . . . . .419 

The Perfect Sacrifice . . . . .419 

God Hides his People . . . . .419 

The Secrets of Divine Love are to be kept . . 420 

The Vicissitudes experienced in the Christian Life . 423 
Watching unto God in the Night Season . . 426 

On the same ...... 427 

On the same ..... . 428 

The Joy of the Cross . . . . .429 

Joy in Martyrdom ..... 430 

Simple Trust 431 

The Necessity of Self-abasement . • . 431 

Love Increased by Suffering .... 433 
Scenes Favourable to Meditation . . . 434 



Translations from Vincent Bourne: — 
The Glowworm 
The Jackdaw 
The Cricket 
The Parrot 



436 
436 

437 
438 



CONTENTS. 



Translations from Vincent Bourne — Continued. paob 

The Thracian . . , . . .439 

Reciprocal Kindness the Primary Law of Nature . 439 
A Manual, more Ancient than the Art of Printing, 

and not to be found in any Catalogue . . 440 

An Enigma ...... 441 

Sparrows Self-domesticated in Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge' . . . • . 442 
Familiarity Dangerous ..... 442 

Invitation to the Redbreast .... 443 

Strada's Nightingale ..... 443 

Ode on the Death of a Lady, who Lived One Hundred 

Years, and Died on her Birthday, 1728 . . 444 

The Cause Won . . . . .445 

The Silkworm 445 

The Innocent Thief . . . . .446 

Denner's Old Woman . . . . .446 

The Tears of a Painter . . . .447 

The Maze . . . . . .448 

No Sorrow Peculiar to the Sufferer . . . 448 

The Snail 448 

The Cantab 449 



Translations op tiie Latin and Italian Poems of 
Milton : — 
Elegy I. To Charles Deodati . . .449 

,, II. On the Death of the University Beadle at 
„ Cambridge .... 451 

„ III. On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester 452 
„ IV. To his Tutor, Thomas Young, Chaplain 

to the English Factory at Hamburg . 453 
9y V. On the approach of Spring . . . 456 

„ VI. To Charles Deodati . . .458 

„ VII 460 

The Cottager and his Landlord . A Fable . . 462 

Epigrams : — 

On the Inventor of Guns .... 463 

To Leonora Singing at Rome . . . 463 

To the same . . . . .463 

To Christina, Queen of Sweden, with Cromwell's 
Picture . . . . . .463 

On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, a Physician . 464 



Translations os- the Latin and Italian Poems o? 
Miltoh — Continued. pagh 

On the Death of the Bishop of Ely 
Nature Unimpaired by Time .... 466 

On the Platonic Idea as it was understood by Aristotle 467 
To his Father . . . . . .468 

To Salsillus, a Roman Poet, much indisposed . 471 

To Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, . 472 

On the Death of Damon .... 475 

An Ode, addressed to Air John Rouse, Librarian of 
the University of Oxford . . . .480 

Translations of the Italian Poems : — 

Sonnet 4S3 

Sonnet 483 

Canzone ...... 483 

Sonnet, to Charles Deodati . . .484 

Sonnet ...... 484 

Sonnet . . . . , .484 

Translations from Virgil, Ovid, Horace, ani> Homer :— 

The Salad, by Virgil 4S5 

Translation from Virgil, Mn. Book VIII., Line 18 . 488 

Ovid, Trist. Book V. Eleg. xii. 496 

Horace. Book I. Ode ix. . 497 

„ „ Ode xxxviii. . . . 497 

„ „ Ode xxxviii. . , . 498 
„ Book II. Odex. . . . .493 

A Reflection on the foregoing Ode . . , 499 

Horace, Book II. Ode xvi. .... 499 
The Fifth Satire of the First Book of Horace.— A 
Humorous Description of the Author's Journey from 

Rome to Brundudum .... 500 
The Ninth Satire of the First Book of Horace — 
Description of an Impertinent. Adapted to the 



Present Times, 1759 


. 504 


Translation of an Epigram from Homer . . 507 


Translations of Greek Verses :— 




From the Greek of Julianas 


. 508 


On the same by Paliadas 


, 5G8 


An Epitaph 


. 508 


Another 


. 508 


Another 


. 508 



*X*V CONTENTS. 


Translations of Greek Verses— Contina 


id. PAGE 


Another .... 


. 509 


By Calliniaclius . • , 


. 509 


On Miltiades # 


. 509 


On an Infant f , 


. 509 ' 


By Heraclides ... 


. 509 


On the Reed 


. 509 


To Health 


. 510 


On Invalids e . , 


. 510 


On the Astrologers 


. 510 


On an Old "Woman . , 


. 510 


On Flatterers . - . . . 


. 510 


On a True Friend 


. 510 


On the Swallow 


. 511 


On Late Acquired Wealth 


. 511 


On a Bath, by Plato . 


. 511 


On a Fowler, by Isidorus 


. 511 


On a Good Man 


. 511 


On a Miser 


. 512 


Another . 


. 512 


Another . # • . 


. 512 


On the Grasshopper . . , 


. 512 


On Niobe .... 


. 513 


On Female Inconstancy , 


. 513 


From Menander 


. 513 


On Pallas Bathing, from a Hymn of Ca 


Uimachns . 513 


To Demosthenes 


. 514 


On a Similar Character 


. 514 


On an Ugly Fellow 


. 514 


On a Thief . 


. 514 


On Envy 


. 514 


On a Battered Beauty . 


. 515 


On Pedigree, from Epicharmus 


. 515 


By Moschus .... 


. 515 


By Philemon . . . . 


. 515 


Epigrams Translated from the Latin of 


Owen : — 


On One Ignorant and Arrogant 


. 516 


Prudent Simplicity 


. 516 


Sunset and Sunrise . . . 


. 516 


To a Friend in Distress 


. 516 


Retaliation 


. 516 



TABLE TAIK. 



Si t ! fort§ mes gravis uret sarcina chartse 

Ajbicito. Hos. Lib. i. Ep. 13. 



A. You told me, I remember, glory, built 
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; 
The deeds that men admire as half divine, 
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. 
Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple tears 
The laurel that the very lightning spares ; 
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, 
And eats into hi? bloody sword like rust. 

B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, 
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war, 
And never meant the rule should be applied 
To him that fights with justice on his side. 

Let laurels drench'd in pure Parnassian dewa 
Reward his memory, dear to every muse, ' 
Who, with a courage of unshaken root, 
In honour's field advancing his firm foot, 
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, 
And will prevail or r erish in her cause. 
'Tis to the virtues of such men man owes 
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows. 
And, when recording History displays 
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, 
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, 
'Where duty placed them, at their country's side ; 
The man that is not moved with what he reads, 
That takes not fire at their heroic d;eds, 
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, 
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. 

But let eternal infamy pursue 
The wretch to nought but his ambition true, 
"Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
The post-horn of all Europe, lays her waste. 
Thiuk yourself station'd on a towering rock, 



COWPER S POEMS. 



To see a people scatter'd like a flock, 

Some royal mastiff panting at then* heels, 

With all the savage thirst a tiger feels ; 

Then view him self-proclaimed in a gazette 

Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet. 

The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced, 

Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced ! 

The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour, 

And Death's own scythe, would better speak his power £ 

Then grace the bony phantom in their stead 

With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade ; 

Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, 

The same their occupation and success. 

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man ; 
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : 
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, 
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 

B. Seldom, alas ! the power of logic reigns 
With much sufficiency in royal brains ; 
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone, 
Wanting its proper base to stand upon. 

Man made for kings ! those optics are but dim 
That tell you so — say, rather, they i s r him. 
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, 
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought. 
The diadem, with mighty projects lined, 
To catch renown by ruining mankind, 
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store, 
Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. 

Oh ! bright occasions of dispensing good, 
How seldom used, how little understood! 
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward ; 
Keep Vice restrain'd behind a double guard ; 
To quell the faction that affronts the throne 
By silent magnanimity alone ; 
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts ; 
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts ; 
To give religion her unbridled scope, 
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope; 
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd 
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd ; 
Covetous only of a virtuous praise ; 
His life a lesson to the land he sways ; 
To touch the sword with conscientious awe, 
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw ; 
To sheath it in the peace-restoring close 
With joy beyond what victory bestows — 
Blest country, where these kingly glories shine 
£]est England, if this happiness be thine ! 

A. Guard what you say : the patriotic tribe 
Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe. — B. A bribe 
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, 
To lure me to the baseness of a lie ; 
And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast), 



TABLE TALK. 



The lie that flatters 1 abhor the most. 

Those arts be theirs who hate his gentle reign, 

But he that lores him has no need to feign. 

A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown address'd, 
Seems to imply a censure on the rest. 

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, 
Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail ; 
Approved their method in all other things ; 
But where, good sir, do you confine your kings 1 
There — said his guide — the group is in full view. 
Indeed ! — replied the don — there are but few. 
His black interpreter the charge disdain'd — 
Few, fellow 1 — there are all that ever reign'd. 
Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike 

The guilty and not guilty both alike : 

I grant the sarcasm is too severe, 

And we can readily refute it here ; 

While Alfred's name, the father of his age, 

And the Sixth Edward's grace the historic page. 

A. Kings, then, at last have but the lot of all : 
By their own conduct they must stand or fall. 

B. True. While they live, the courtly laureate pays 
His quitrent ode, his peppercorn of praise, 

And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, 
Adds, as he can, his tributary mite : 
A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, 
A monarch's errors are forbidden game ! 
Thus, free from censure, overawed by fear, 
And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear, 
The fleeting forms of majesty engage 
Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage : 
Then leave their crimes for history to scan, 
And ask, with busy scorn, Was this the man ] 

I pity kings, w T hom worship waits upon, 
Obsequious from the cradle to the throne ; 
Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows, 
And binds a wreath about their baby brows : 
Whom education stiffens into state, 
And death awakens from that dream too late. 
Oh ! if servility with supple knees, 
Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please ; 
If smooth dissimulation, skill'd to grace 
A devil's purpose with an angel's face ; 
If smiling peeresses and simpering peers, 
Encompassing his throne a few short years ; 
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed, 
That wants no driving, and disdains the lead : 
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks, 
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks, 
Shouldering and standing as if stuck to stone, 
While condescending majesty looks on — 
If monarchy consist in such base things, 
Sighing, I say again, I pity kings ! 

To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, 



cowper's poems. 



E'en when he labours for his country's good ; 
To see a band call'd patriot for no cause, 
But that they catch at popular applause, 
Careless of all the anxiety he feels, 
Hook disappointment on the public wheels ; 
With all their flippant fluency of tongue, 
Most confident, when palpably most wrong — 
If this be kingly, then farewell for me 
All kingship, and may I be poor and free ! 
To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs, 
To which the unwash'd artificer repairs, 
To indulge his genius after long fatigue, 
By diving into cabinet intrigue — 
(For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, 
To him is relaxation, and mere play) ; 
To win no praise when well-wrought plans prevail, 
But to be rudely censured when they fail ; 
To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, 
And in reality to find no friend ; 
If he indulge a cultivated taste, 
His galleries with the works of art well graced, 
To hear it call'd extravagance and waste ; — 
If these attendants, and if such as these, 
Must follow royalty, then welcome ease ; 
However humble and confined the sphere, 
Happy the state that has not these to fear ! 

A . Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have dv oil 
On situations that they never felt, 

Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 
Of dreaming study and pedantic rust, 
And prate and preach about what others prove, 
As if the world and they were hand and glove. 
Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares ; 
They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs ; 
Poets, of all men, ever least regret 
Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. 
Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse 
The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, 
No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, 
Should claim my fix d attention more than you. 

B, Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay 
To turn the course of Helicon that way : 

Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide 
Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapsids, 
Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse 
The leathern ears of stockjobbers and Jew* 

A, Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme 
To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. 
When ministers and ministerial arts : 
Patriots, who love good places at their hearts ; 
When admirals, extoll'd for standing still, 
Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; 
Generals, who will not conquer when they may, 
Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay ; 



TABLE TALK. 



When Freedom, wounded almost to despair, 

Though discontent alone can find out where — 

When themes like these employ the poet's tongue, 

I hear as mute as if a syren sung. 

Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains 

A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains ] 

That were a theme might animate the dead, 

And move the lips of poets cast in lead. 

B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet elude 
Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. 
They take, perhaps, a well-directed aim, 
Who seek it in his climate and his frame. 
Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here 
With stern severity deals out the year. 
Winter invades the spring, and often pours 
A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers; 
Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 
Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams : 
The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork 
With double toil, and shiver at their work : 
Thus with a rigour, for his good design'd, 
She rears her favourite man of all mankind. 
His form robust, and of elastic tone, 
Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone, 
Supplies with warm activity and force 
A mind well lodged, and masculine of course. 
Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires 
And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. 
Patient of constitutional control, 
He bears it with meek manliness of soul ; 
But, if authority grow wanton, woe 
To him that treads upon his free-born toe! 
One step beyond the boundary of the laws, 
Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause. 
Thus proud Prerogative, Dot much revered, 
Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard \ 
And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay, 
Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. 

Born in a climate softer far than ours, 
Not form'd like us, with such Herculean powers. 
The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, 
Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, 
Is always happy, reign whoever may, 
And laughs the sense of misery far away : 
He drinks his simple beverage with a gust; 
And, feasting on an onion and a crust, 
We never feel the alacrity and joy 
With which he shouts and carols, Vive le Roi t 
Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee 
As if he heard his king say — Slave, be free. 

Thus happiness depends, as Nature shews, 
Less on exterior things than most suppose. 
Vigilant over all that he has made, 
Kind Providence attends with gracious aid ; 



COWPER S POEMS. 



Bids equity throughout his works prevail, 
And weighs the nations in an even scale; 
He can encourage slavery to a smile, 
And fill with discontent a British isle. 

A, Freeman and slave, then, if the case be such, 
Stand on a level ; and you prove too much : 

If all men indiscriminately share 
His fostering power, and tutelary care, 
As well be yoked by Despotism's hand, 
As dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land. 

B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to shew^ 
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 

The mind attains beneath her happy reign 

The growth that Nature meant she should attain; 

The varied fields of science, ever new, 

Opening and wider opening on her view, 

She ventures onward with a prosperous force, 

While no base fear impedes her in her course : 

Religion, richest favour of the skies, 

Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes ; 

No shades of superstition blot the day, 

Liberty chases all that gloom away. 

The soul, emancipated, unoppress'd, 

Free to prove all things and hold fast the best, 

Learns much; and to a thousand listening minda 

Communicates with joy the good she finds; 

Courage in arms^ and ever prompt to shew 

His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; 

Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, 

His spirits rising as his toils increase, 

Guards well what arts and industry have won, 

And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. 

Slaves fight for what were better cast away — 

The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway ; 

But they that fight for freedom undertake 

The noblest cause mankind can have at stake : 

Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 

A blessing — freedom is the pledge of all. 

Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream, 

The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme; 

Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; 

Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse ; 

Heroic song from thy free touch acquires 

Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires. 

Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air, 

And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; 

And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, 

In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. 

A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I grant 
An English poet's privilege torant; 
But is not freedom — at least, is not ours 
Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, 
Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound. 
Spread anarchy and terror all around ] 



TABLE TALK. 



B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse 
For bounding and curveting in his course ] 
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, 
He break away, and seek the distant plain 1 
No. His high mettle, under good control, 
Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. 

Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; 
Let magistrates alert perform their parts, 
Not skulk or put on a prudential mask, 
As if their duty were a desperate task ; 
Let active laws apply the needful curb, 
To guard the peace that riot would disturb; 
And Liberty, preserved from wild excess, 
Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
When Tumult lately burst his prison-door, 
And set plebeian thousands in a roar; 
When he usurp' d authority's just place, 
And dared to look his master in the face; 
When the rude rabble's watchword was — Destroy, 
And blazing London seem'd a second Troy; 
Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head, 
Beheld their progress with the deepest dread; 
Blush'd that effects like these she should produce. 
Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. 
She loses in such storms her very name, 
And fierce licentiousness should bear the blame. 

Incomparable gem ! thy worth untold : 
Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when sold : 
May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend 
Betray thee, while professing to defend ! 
Prize it, ye ministers ; ye monarchs, spare; 
Ye patriots, guard it with a miser's care. 

A. Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found, 
Where most they flourish, upon English ground, 
The country's need have scantily supplied, 

And the last left the scene when Chatham died. 

B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 
Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
In him Demosthenes was heard again ; 
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain; 
She clothed him with authority and awe, 
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, 
And all his country beaming in his face, 

He stood, as some inimitable hand 
Would strive to make a Paul cr Tully stand. 
No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 
Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; 
And every venal stickler for the yoke 
Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 
Such men are raised to station and command, 
When Providence means mercy to a land. 
He speaks, and they appear ; to him they owe 
Skill to direct, a:id strength to strike the blow; 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



To manage with address, to seize with power 
The crisis of a dark decisive hour. 
So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own; 
Subserviency his praise, and that alone. 

Poor England ! thon art a devoted deer, 
Beset with every ill bnt that of fear. 
The nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prey ; 
They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay : 
Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd, 
Once Ohatham saved thee; but who saves thee next* 
Alas ! the tide of pleasure sweeps along 
All that should be the boast of British song. 
'Tis not the wreath that once adorn'd thy brow, 
The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. 
Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race, 
Patterns of every virtue, every grace, 
Confess'd a Grod; they kneel'd before they fought, 
And praised him in the victories he wrought. 
Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 
Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; 
Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies, 
Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 
The stream that feeds the wellspring of the hear? 
Not more invigorates life's noblest part, 
Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine 
The powers that sin has brought to a decline. 

A . The inestimable estimate of Brown 
Rose like a paper-kite, and charm'd the town ; 
But measures, plann'd and executed well, 
Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. 
He trod the very selfsame ground you tread, 
And victory refuted all he said. 

B. And yet his judgment was not framed amis" ; 
Its error, if it errd, was merely this — 

He thought the dying hour already come, 
And a complete recovery struck him dumb. 
But that effeminacy, folly, lust, 
Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must; 
And that a nation shamefully debased 
Will be despised and trampled on at last, 
Unless sweet penitence her powers renew, 
Is truth, if history itself be true. 
There is a time, and justice marks the date, 
For long forbearing clemency to wait; 
That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt 
Is punish'd, and clown comes the thunderbolt- 
If Mercy then put by the threatening blow, 
•Must she perform the same kind office now ? 
May she ! and if offended Heaven be still 
Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 
'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, 
The tempest of tumultuary joys, 
Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 
Will win her visits or engage her stay; 



TAELE TALK. 



Prayer only^ anrlilie penitential tear, 

Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. 

But when a country (one that I could name) 
In prostitution sinks the sense of shame; 
"When infamous venality, grown bold. 
Writes on his bosom, To be let or sold; 
"When perjury, that Heaven-defying vice, 
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price, 
Stamps God's own ame upon a lie just made, 
To turn a penny in the way of trade; 
When avarice starves (and never hides his face) 
Two or three millions of the human race, 
And not a tongue inquires how, where, or when ; 
Though conscience will have twinges now and then 
When profanation of the sacred v.*ause 
In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, 
Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost, 
In all that wars against that title most; 
What follows next let cities of great name, 
And regions long since desolate proclaim. 
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, 
Speak to the present times and times to come ; 
They cry aloud in every careless ear, 
Stop, while ye may; suspend your mad career; 
learn, from our example and our fate, 
Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late ! 

Not only Vice disposes and prepares 
The mind that slumbers sweetly in her snares, 
To stoop to tyranny's usurp'd command, 
And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand 
(A dire effect by one of Nature's laws 
Unchangeably connected with its cause) ; 
But Providence himself will intervene, 
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. 
A 11 are his instruments ; each form of war, 
What burns at home, or threatens from afar, 
Nature in arms, her elements at strife, 
The storms that overset the joys of life, 
Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, 
And waste it at the bidding of his hand. 
He gives the word, and mutiny soon roars 
In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores; 
The standards of all nations are unfurl'd; 
She has one foe, and that one foe the world. 
And if he doom that people with a frown, 
And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down. 
Obduracy takes place; callous and tough, 
The reprobated race grows judgment-proof: 
Earth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars above, 
But nothing scares them from the course they love. 
To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, 
That charm down fear, they frolic it along, 
With mad rapidity and unconcern, 
Down to the gulf from which is no return* 



10 C0WPERS POEMS. 



They trust in navies, and their navies fail — 
Grod's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! 
They trust in armies, and their courage dies ; 
In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies; 
But all they trust in withers, as it must, 
When He commands in whom they place no trust. 
Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast 
A long despised, but now victorious, host ; 
Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge 
The noble sweep of all their privilege ; 
Gives liberty the last, the mortal, shock ; 
Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. 

A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, 
M ean you to prophesy, or but to preach ] 

B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire 
The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre, 
Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 
Whatever the theme, that others never feel. 

If human woes her soft attention claim, 

A tender sympathy pervades the frame, 

She pours a sensibility divine 

Along the nerve of every feeling line. 

But if a deed not tamely to be borne 

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, 

The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, 

The storm of music shakes the astonish'd crowd. 

So, when remote futurity is brought 

Before the keen inquiry of her thought, 

A terrible sagacity informs 

The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms; 

He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ! 

And, arm'd with strength surpassing human power*:. 

Seizes events as yet unknown to man, 

And darts his soul into the dawning plan. 

Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 

Of prophet and of poet was the same; 

Hence British poets too the priesthood shared, 

And every hallow'd druid was a bard. 

But no prophetic fires to me belong; 

I play with syllables, and sport in song. 

A . At "Westminster, where little poets strive 
To set a distich upon six and five, 
Where Discipline helps opening buds of sense 
And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, 
I was a poet too ; but modern taste 
Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste, 
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, 
Without a creamy smoothness has no charma. 
Thus all success depending on an ear, 
And thinking I might purchase it too dear, 
If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, 
And truth cut short to make a period round. 
I judged a man of sense could scarce do worw 
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. 



TABLE TALK. 11 



B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 
And some wits nag through fear of losing it. 
(Kve me the line that ploughs its stately course, 
Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force; 
That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, 
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 
When labour and when dulness, club in hand. 
Like the two figures at St Dunstan's stand, 
Beating alternately, in measured time, 
The clockwork fcintinnabulum of rhyme, 
Exact and regular the sounds will be; 
But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 

From him who rears a poem lank and long, 
To him who strains his all into a song ; 
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, 
All birks and braes, though he was never there; 
Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, 
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; 
A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — 
An art contrived to advertise a joke, 
So that the jest is clearly to be seen, 
Not in the words — but in the gap between; 
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, 
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. 

To dally much with subjects mean and low 
Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. 
Neglected talents rust into decay, 
And every effort ends in pushpin play. 
The man that means success should soar above 
A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove; 
Else, summoning the muse to such a theme, 
The fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream. 
As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — 
Stoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. 
As if the poet, purposing to wed, 
Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 

Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, 
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard ; 
To carry nature lengths unknown before, 
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. 
Thus genius rose and set at order'd times, 
And shot a day-spring into distant climes, 
Ennobling every region that he chose; 
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose; 
And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd, 
Emerged all splendour in our isle at last. 
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, 
Then shew far off their shining plumes again* 

A. Is genius only found in epic lays ] 
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. 
Make their heroic powers your own at once, 
Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. 

B. These were the chief; each interval of night 
Was graced with many an undulating light 



12 COWPBR S POEMS. 



In less illustrious bards his beauty shone 
A meteor, or a star ; in these, the sun. 

The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, 
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. 
Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, 
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly ; 
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, 
An ell or two of prospect we command ; 
But never peep beyond the thorny bound, 
Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. 

In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart 
Had faded, poetry was not an art ; 
Language, above all teaching, or if taught, 
Only by gratitude and glowing thought, 
Elegant as simplicity, and warm 
As ecstacy, unmanacled by form, 
Not prompted, as in our degenerate days, 
By low ambition and the thirst of praise, 
Was natural as is the flowing stream, 
And yet magnificent — a Grod the theme ! 
That theme on earth exhausted, though above 
'Tis found as everlasting as his love, 
Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things — 
The feats of heroes and the wrath of kings ; 
But still, while virtue kindled his delight, 
The song was moral, and so far was right. 
'Twas thus till luxury seduced the mind 
To joys less innocent, as less refined ; 
Then Genius danced a bacchanal ; he crown 'd 
The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound 
His brows with ivy, rnsh'd into the field 
Of wild imagination, and there reel'd, 
The victim of his own lascivious fires, 
And, dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires : 
Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome 
This bedlam part ; and others nearer home. 
When Cromwell fought for power, and while he rcign'<s 
The proud protector of the power he gain'd, 
Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere, 
Parent of manners like herself severe, 
Drew a rough copy of the Christian face, 
Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ; 
The dark and sullen hnmour of the time 
Judged every effort of the muse a crime; 
Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, 
Was lumber in an age so void of taste. 
But when the second Charles assumed the sway, 
And arts revived beneath a softer day, 
Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, 
The mind, released from too constraint a nerve, 
Flew to its first position with a spring, 
That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring. 
His court, the dissolute and hateful school 
Of wantonness, where vice was taught by rule. 



TABLE TALK, 13 



Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid 
"With brutal lust as ever Circe made. 
From these a long succession, in the rage 
Of rank obscenity, debauch' d their age : 
2s" or ceased till, ever anxious to redress 
The abuses of her sacred charge, the press. 
The Muse instructed a well -nurtured train 
Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, 
And claim the palm for purity of song, 
That lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. 
Then decent pleasantry and sterling sense, 
That neither gave nor would endure offence, 
Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, 
The puppy pack that had denied the scene. 

In front of these came Addison. In him 
Humour in holiday and sightly trim, 
Sublimity and Attic taste combined, 
To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 
Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, 
In verse well-disciplined,, complete, compact, 
(rave virtue and morality a grace, 
That, quite eclipsing pleasure's painted face, 
Levied a tax of wonder and applause, 
E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. 
But he (his musical finesse was such, 
So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 
Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; 
And every warbler has his tune by heart. 
Nature imparting her satiric gift, 
Her serious m.rth, to Arbuthnot and Svrift, 
With droll sobriety they raised a smile 
At folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. 
That constellation set, the world in vain 
Must hope to look upon their like again. 

A. Are we then left 1 — B. Not wholly in the dv^k 
Wit now and then, struck smartly, shews a spark, 
Sufficient to redeem the modern race 
From total night and absolute disgrace. 
While servile trick and imitative knack 
Confine the million in the beaten track, 
Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, 
Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. 

Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one; 
Short his career indeed, but ably run ; 
Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, 
In penury consumed his idle hours ; 
And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown, 
Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 
Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 
And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, 
He laid his head in luxury's soft lap, ■ 
And took, too often, there his easy nap. 
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth- 
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. 



14 COWPER S POE3IS. 



Surly and slovenly, and bold and coarse, 

Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force* 

Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, 

Always at speed, and never drawing bit, 

He struck the lyre in such, a careless mood, 

And so disdain'd the rules he understood, 

The laurel seem'd to wait on his command ; 

He snatch'd it rudely from the muses' hand. 

Nature, exerting an unwearied power, 

Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower ; 

Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leado 

The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads ; 

She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 

With music, modulating all their notes ; 

And charms the woodland scenes and wilds unknown 

With artless airs and concerts of her own ; 

But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 

Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 

Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 

Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought j 

Fancy, that from the bow that spans the sky 

Brings colours, dipp'd in heaven, that never die; 

A soul exalted above earth, a mind 

Skill'd in the characters that form mankind ; 

And, as the sun, in rising beauty dress'd, 

Looks to the westward from the dappled east, 

And marks, whatever clouds may interpose, 

Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close; 

An eye like his to catch the distant goal ; 

Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 

Like his to shed illuminating rays 

On every scene and subject it surveys; 

Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, 

And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 

Pity Religion has so seldom found 

A skilful guide into poetic ground ! 

The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray, 

And every muse attend her in her way. 

Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, 

And many a compliment politely penn'd ; 

But, unattired in that becoming vest 

Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd, 

Stands in the desert shivering and forlorn, 

A wintry figure, like a wither 'd thorn. 

The shelves are full, all other themes are sped; 

Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, 

Satire has long since done his best ; and curst 

And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst; 

Fancy has sported all her powers away 

In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; 

And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 

Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 

'Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire, 

Touch'd with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, 



TABLE TALK. 



And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, 
With more than mortal music on his tongue, 
That He, who died below, and reigns above^ 
Inspires the song, and that his naioe is Love. 

For, after all, if merely to beguile, 
By flowing numbers and a flowery style, 
The tedium that the lazy rich endure, 
Which now and then sweet poetry may cure: 
Or, if to see the name of idol self, 
Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelr 5 
To float a bubble on the breath of fame, 
Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim, 
Debased to servile purposes of pride, 
How are the powers of genius misapplied 1 
The gift, whose office is the Griver's praise, 
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways ! 
Then spread the rich discovery, and invite 
Mankind to share in the divine delight : 
Distorted from its use and just design, 
To make the pitiful possessor shine, 
To purchase at the fool-frequented fair 
Of vanity a wreath for self to wear, 
Is profanation of the basest kind — 
Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind. 

A, Hail, Sternhold, then! and, Hopkins, hail! — 
B. Amen. 
If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen ; 
If acrimony, slander, and abuse, 
Gfive it a charge to blacken and traduce ; 
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease. 
With all that fancy can invent to please, 
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, 
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. 

A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, 
To dash the pen through ail that you proscribe. 

B. No matter — we could shift when they were not • 
And should, no doubt, if thsy were all forgot. 






THE FR03BESS OF EHKOE. 



hi tfili loquar audiendam.— Hob. Lib. lv. Od. 2. 



Sing, muse (if such a therne, so dark, so long, 
May find a muse to grace it with a song), 
By what unseen and unsuspected arts 
The serpent Error twines round human hearts ; 
Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades 
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, 
The poisonous, black, insinuating worm 
Successfully conceals her loathsome form. 
Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine, 
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine ! 
Truths, that the theorist could never reach, 
And observation taught me, I would teach. 

Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills, 
Musical as the chime of tinkling rills, 
"Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend, 
Can trace her mazy windings to their end ; 
Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure, 
Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. 
The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, 
Falls soporific on the listless ear ; 
Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display 
Shines as it runs, but, grasp'd at, slips away 

Placed for his trial on this bustling stage, 
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age, 
Free in his will to choose or to refuse, 
Man may improve the crisis, or abuse ; 
Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan, 
Say, to what bar amenable were man ] 
With nought in charge he could betray no trust r 
And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; 
If love reward him, or if vengeance strike, 
His recompence in both unjust alike. 
Divine authority within his breast 
Brings every thought, word, action, to the test ; 
Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrain s, 
As reason, or as passion, takes the reins. 
Heaven from above, and conscience from within, 



THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 17 

Cries in his startled ear — Abstain from sin ! 
The world around solicits his desire,. 
And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire; 
While, all his purposes and steps to guard, 
Peace follows virtue as its sure reward ; 
And pleasure brings as surely in her train 
Remorse, and sorrow, and vindictive pain. 

Man, thus endued with an elective voice, 
Must be supplied with objects of his choice, 
"Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, 
Or present or in prospect, meet his sight : 
Those open on the spot their honey 'd store; 
These call him loudly to pursuit of more. 
His unexhausted mine the sordid vice 
Avarice shews, and virtue is the price. 
Here various motives his ambition raise — 
Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of xr&i&e ; 
There beauty woos him with expanded arms; 
E'en bacchanalian madness has its charms. 

Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined 
Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, 
Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth, 
Or lead him devious from the path of truth; 
Hourly allurements on his passions press. 
Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess ! 

Hark ! how it floats upon the dewy air ! 
what a dying, dying close was there ! 
'Tis harmony, from yon sequester'd bower, 
Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight horn- ! 
Long ere the charioteer of day had run 
His morning course the enchantment was begun; 
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, 
Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 

Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent, 
That virtue points to ] Can a life thus spent 
Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, 
Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skies 1 
Ye devotees to your adored employ, 
Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, 
Love makes the music of the blest above, 
Heaven's harmony is universal love; 
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined. 
And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, 
Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind. 
Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train 
Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 
'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs; 
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs, 
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, 
True beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps. 
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene, 
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean; 
The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays — 
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 



18 COWPEPt'S POEMS. 



Again impetuous to the field he flies; 
Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies ; 
Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home, 
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 

Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place, 
Lights of the world and stars of human race ; 
But, if eccentric ye forsake your sphere, 
Prodigies ominous and view'd with fear : 
The comet's baneful influence is a dream ; 
Yours real, and pernicious in the extreme. 
What then ! are appetites and lusts laid down 
With the same ease that man puts on his gown ] 
Will avarice and concupiscence give place, 
Charrn'd by the sounds — Your Reverence, or your Grace! 
No. But his own engagement binds him fast ; 
Or, if it does not, brands him to the last 
What atheists call him — a designing knave, 
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 
Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, 
A cassock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest ! 
He from Italian songsters takes his cue : 
Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too. 
He takes the field. The master of the pack 
Cries — Well done, saint ! and claps him on the back. 
Is this the path of sanctity] Is this 
To stand a waymark on the road to bliss 1 
Himself a wanderer from the narrow way, 
His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ] 
Gro, cast your orders at your lishop's feet, 
Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth-street! 
The sacred function in your hands is made — 
Sad sacrilege — no function, but a trade ! 

Occiduus is a pastor of renown ; 
When he has pray'd and preach'd the Sabbath down. 
With wire and catgut he concludes the day, 
Quavering and semiquavering care away. 
The full concerto swells upon your ear ; 
All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
The Babylonian tyrant with a nod 
Had summon'd them to serve his golden god. 
So well that thought the employment seems to suit. 
Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. 
fie ! 'tis evangelical and pure : 
Observe each face, how sober and demure 1 
Ecstacy sets her stamp on every mien; 
Chins fallen, and not an eyeball to be seen. 
Still I insist, though music heretofore 
Has charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more;, 
Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet 
For Sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. 

Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock 
Resort to this example as a rock ; 
There stand, and justify the foul abuse 
Of Sabbath hours with plausible excuse 1 ? 



THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. lfc 

J f apostolic gravity be free 
To play the fool on Sundays, why not we? 
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 
As inoffensive, what offence in cards] 
Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay ! 
Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. 

Italy ! — Thy Sabbaths will be soon 
Our Sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. 
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, 
Ours parcelled out, as thine have ever been, 
God's worship and the mountebank between. 
What says the prophet ] Let that day be blest 
With holiness and consecrated rest. 
Pastime and business, both it should exclude, 
And bar the door the moment they intrude ; 
Nobly distinguished above all the six 
By deeds in which the world must never mix. 
Hear him again. He calls it a delight, 
A day of luxury observed aright, 
When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome gnee^ 
Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 
But triflers are engaged and cannot come ; 
Their answer to the call is — Not at home. 

the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, 
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! 
Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die, 
The yawning chasm of indolence supply ! 
Then to the dance, and make the sober moon 
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon. 
Blame, XJynic, if you can, quadrille or ball, 
The snug close party, or the splendid hall, 
Where Night, clown stooping from her ebon throne. 
Views constellations brighter than her own. 
'Tis iunocent, and harmless, and refined, 
The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 
Innocent ! Oh, if venerable Time 
Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime, 
Then, with his silver beard and magic wand, 
Let Comus rise archbishop of the land ; 
Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe, 
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. 

Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast, 
The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. 
Rufillus, exquisitely form'd by rule, 
Not of the moral but the dancing school, 
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone 
As tragical as others at his own. 
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, 
Then kill a constable, and drink five more ; 
But he can draw a pattern, make a tart, 
And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. 
Go, fool ; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead 
Your cause before a bar you little dread ; 
But know, the law that bids the drunkard die, 



20 COWPER S POEMS. 



Is far too just to pass the trifler by. 

Both, baby-featured, and of infant size, 

View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes, 

Folly and Innocence are so alike, 

The difference, though essential, fails to strike. 

Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, 

A simpering countenance, and a trifling air ; 

But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect, 

Delights us, by engaging our respect. 

Man, Nature's guest by invitation sweet, 

Receives from her both appetite and treat ; 

But, if he play the glutton and exceed, 

His benefactress blushes at the deed. 

For Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense, 

Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. 

Daniel ate pulse by choice — example rare ! 

Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and fair. 

Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, 

Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : 

He snuffs far off the anticipated joy ; 

Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ; 

Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, 

Oh, nauseous ! — an emetic for a whet ! 

Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good 1 

Temperance were no virtue if he could. 

That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, 
Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all. 
And some, that seem to threaten virtue less 
Still hurtful in the abuse, or by the excess. 

Is man, then, only for his torment placed 
The centre of delights he may not taste ? 
Like fabled Tantalus, condemn'd to hear 
The precious stream still purling in his ear, 
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curst 
With prohibition and perpetual thirst ] 
No, wrangler — destitute of shame and sense ; 
The precept, that enjoins him abstinence, 
Forbids him none but the licentious joy, 
Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. 
Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid 
In every bosom where her nest is made, 
Hatch'd by the beams of truth, denies him rest, 
And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. 
No pleasure ] Are domestic comforts dead ? 
Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled? 
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame, 
Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good fame! 
All these belong to virtue, and all prove 
That virtue has a title to your love. 
Have you no touch of pity, that the poor 
Stand starved at your inhospitable doorl 
Or if yourself, too scantily supplied. 
Need help, let honest industry provide. 
Earn, if you want ; if you abound, impart : 



THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 21 

These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. 
No pleasure ? Has some sickly eastern waste 
Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ] 
Can British Paradise no scenes afford 
To please her sated and indifferent lord ] 
Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run 
Quite to the lees ] And has religion none ? 
Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie, 
And judge you from the kennel and the stye. 
Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, 
Ye are bid, begg'd, besought, to entertain; 
Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off 
Obscene to swill and swallow at a trough ] 
Envy the beast, then, on whom Heaven bestows 
Your pleasures, with no curses at the close. 

Pleasure admitted in undue degree 
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free* 
'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice 
Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use; 
Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, 
And woman, lovely woman, does the same. 
The heart, surrender'd to the ruling power 
Of some ungovern'd passion every hour, 
Finds by degrees the truths that once bore sway, 
And all their deep impressions, wear away ; 
So coin grows smooth, in traffic current pass'd, 
Till Caesar's image is effaced at last. 

The breach, though small at first, soon opening wide, 
In rushes folly with a full-moon tide, 
Then welcome errors, of whatever size, 
To justify it by a thousand lies. 
As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, 
And hides the ruin that it feeds upon; 
So sophistry cleaves close to and protects 
Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects. 
Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, 
First wish to be imposed on, and then are. 
And lest the fulsome artifice should fail, 
Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. 
Not more industrious are the just and true 
To give to Yirtue what is Yirtue's due — 
The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth, 
And call her charms to public notice forth — 
Than Yice's mean and disingenuous race 
To hide the shocking features of her face. 
Her form with dress and lotion they repair ; 
Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. 

The sacred implement I now employ 
Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy ; 
A trifle, if it move but to amuse ; 
But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse, 
Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, 
It stabs at once the morals of a land. 

Ye writers of what none with safety reads, 



$2 cowper's poems. 



Footing it in the dance that F ancv leads ; 
Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend, 
Snivelling and drivelling folly without end ; 
Yrhose corresponding misses fill the ream 
With sentimental frippery and dream, 
Caught in a delicate soft silken net 
By some lewd earl, or rake-hell baronet : 
Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence, 
Steal to the closet of young innocence, 
And teach her, inexperienced yet and green, 
To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen ; 
Who, kindling a combustion of desire, 
"With some cold moral think to quench the fire ; 
Though all your engineering proves in vain, 
The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again : 
that a verse had power, and could command 
Far, far away, these flesh-nies of the land, 
Who fasten without mercy on the fair, 
And suck, and leave a craving maggot there ! 
Howe'er disguised the inflammatory tale, 
And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil ; 
Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust 
And relish of their pleasure all to lust. 

But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view 
A quarry more important still than you ; 
Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away, 
Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. 

Petronius ! all the muses weep for thee ; 
But every tear shall scald thy memory : 
The graces too, while Virtue at their shrine 
Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine, 
Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, 
Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. 
Thou polish'd and high-finish'd foe to truth, 
Graybeard corrupter of our listening youth, 
To purge and skim away the filth of vice, 
That so refined it might the more entice, 
Then pour it on the morals of thy son, 
To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own ! 
Now, while the poison all high life pervades, 
Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades, 
One, and one only, charged with deep regret, 
That thy worst part, thy principles, live yet ; 
One sad epistle thence may cure. mankind 
Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 

'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, 
Our most important are our earliest years ; 
The mind, impressible and soft, with ease 
Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, 
And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clu 
That Education gives her, false or true. 
Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong J 
Man's coltish disposition asks the thong ; 
And without discipline the favourite child, 



THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 23 

Like a neglected forester, runs wild. 
But we, as if good qualities would grow 
Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow : 
We give some Latin and a smatch of Greek ; 
Teach him to fence and figure twice a week ; 
And having done, we think, the best we can, 
Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. 

From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home ; 
And thence with all convenient speed to Rome, 
With reverend tutor, clad in habit lay, 
To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; 
With memorandum -book for every town, 
And every post, and where the chaise broke down ; 
His stock, a few FreDch phrases got by heart, 
With much to learn, bat nothing to impart ; 
The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 
Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. 
Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair, 
With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare, 
Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, 
And steeples towering high, much like our own ; 
But shew peculiar light by many a grin 
At Popish practices observed within. 

Ere long some bowing, smirking, smart abbe 
Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way ; 
And, being always primed with politesse 
For men of their appearance and address, 
With much compassion undertakes the task 
To tell them more than they have wit to ask ; 
Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread, 
Such as, when legible, were never read, 
But being canker d now and half worn out, 
Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt ; 
Some headless hero, or some Caesar shews — 
Defective only in his Roman nose ; 
Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, 
Models of Herculaneum pots and pans; 
And sells them medals, which, if neither rare 
Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. 

Strange the recital ! from whatever cause 
His great improvement and new lights he draws, 
The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, 
But teems with powers he never felt before ; 
Whether increased momentum, and the force 
With which from clime to clime he sped his course 
(As axles sometimes kindle as they go), 
Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow ; 
Or whether clearer skies and softer air, 
That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, 
Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, 
Unfolded genially, and spread the man ; 
Returning, he proclaims, by many a grace, 
By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, 
How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, 



24 cowper's poems. 

Excels a dunce that has "been kept at home. 

Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, 
And wisdom falls before exterior grace : 
We slight the precious kernel of the stone, 
And toil to polish its rough coat alone. 
A just deportment, manners graced with ease, 
Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please, 
Are qualities that seem to comprehend 
Whatever parents, guardians, schools, intend ; 
Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind, 
Though busy, trifling ; empty, though refined ; 
Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash 
With indolence and luxury, is trash ; 
While learning, once the man's exclusive pride, 
Seems verging fast towards the female side. 
Learning itself, received into a mind 
By nature weak, or viciously inclined, 
Serves but to lead philosophers astray, 
Where children would with ease discern the way. 
And of all arts sagacious dupes invent, 
To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, 
The worst is — Scripture warp'd from its intent. 

The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased 
If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased ; 
But if the rogue be gone a cup too far, 
Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar, 
It suffers interruption and delay, 
And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way. 
When some hypothesis absurd and vain 
Has fill'd with all its fumes a critic's brain, 
The text that sorts not with his darling whim, 
Though plain to others, is obscure to him. 
The will made subject to a lawless force, 
All is irregular, and out of course ; 
And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way, 
Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noonday. 

A critic on the sacred book should be 
Candid and learn'd, dispassionate and free ; 
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel, 
From fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal ; 
But above all (or let the wretch refrain, 
Nor touch the page he cannot but proline), 
Free from the domineering power of lust ; 
A lewd interpreter is never just. 

How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, 
Thou god of our idolatry, the Press ] 
By thee religion, liberty, and laws, 
Exert their influence and advance their cause : 
By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befell, 
Diffused, make Earth the vestibule of Hell ; 
Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise, 
Thou ever -bubbling spring of endless lies ; 
Like Eden's dread probationary tree, 
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee ! 



THE PROOKESS OF EURO?.. 25 



No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest 
Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. 
Philosophers, who darken and put out 
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt ; 
Church quacks, with passions under no command, 
Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, 
Discoverers of they know not what, confined 
Within no bounds — the blind that lead the blind ; 
To streams of popular opinion drawn, 
Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. 
The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, 
Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound. 
Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, 
Minnows and gudgeons gorge the unwholesome food. 
The propagated myriads spread so fast, 
E'en Leuwenhoeck himself would stand aghast, 
Employ'd to calculate the enormous sum, 
And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. 
Is this hyperbole ] The world well known, 
Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 

Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 
From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes ; 
And therefore prints : himself but half deceived, 
Till others have the soothing tale believed. 
Hence comment after comment, spun as fine 
As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line. 
Hence the same word that bids our lusts obey 
Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. 
If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, 
Hebrew or Syriac shall be forced to bend; 
If languages and copies all cry, No — 
Somebody proved it centuries ago. 
Like trout pursued, the critic in despair 
Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there : 
Women, whom custom has forbid to fly 
The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why), 
With all the simple and unletter'd poor, 
Admire his learning, and almost adore. 
Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, 
With such fine words familiar to his tongue. 

Ye ladies ! (for, indifferent in your cause, 
I should deserve to forfeit all applause) 
Whatever shocks or gives the least offence 
To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense 
(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide), 
Nor has, nor can have, Scripture on its side. 

None but an author knows ail author's cares, 
Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. 
Committed once into the public arms, 
The baby seems to smile with added charms. 
Like something precious ventured far from shore, 
'Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 
He views it with complacency supreme, 
Solicits kind attention to bis dream ; 



26 COWPER S POEMS. 



And daily, more enamour'd of the cheat, 
Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit, 
So one, whose story serves at least to shew 
Men loved their own productions long ago, 
Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife, 
Nor rested till the gods had given it life. 
If some mere driveller suck the sugar'd fib, 
One that still needs his leading-string and bib, 
And praise his genius, he is soon repaid 
In praise applied to the same part — his head; 
For 'tis a rule that holds for ever true, 
Grant me discernment, and I grant it you. 

Patient of contradiction as a child, 
Affable, humble, diffident, and mild; 
Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke; 
Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock. 
The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe, 
Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. 
Tell him he wanders; that his error leads 
To fatal ills; that, though the path he treads 
Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear, 
Death and the pains of hell attend him there: 
In vain; the slave of arrogance and pride, 
He has no hearing on the prudent side. 
His still refuted quirks he still repeats ; 
New raised objections with new quibbles meets; 
Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends, 
He dies disputing, and the contest ends — 
But not the mischiefs; they, still left behind, 
Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every wind. 

Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill; 
Benol the straight rule to their own crooked will; 
And, with a clear and shining lamp supplied, 
First put it out, then take it for a guide. 
Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
One leg by truth supported, cne by lies, 
They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, 
Secure of nothing — but to lose the race. 

Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, 
And these reciprocally those again. 
The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
And stamp their image in each other's mint ; 
Each, sire and dam of an infernal race, 
Begetting and conceiving all that's base. 

None sends his arrow to the mark in view, 
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. 
For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing, 
Or when it first forsakes the elastic string, 
It err but little from the intended line, 
It falls at last far wide of his design ; 
So he who seeks a mansion in the sky, 
Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye; 



THE PROGRESS OF 



27 



That prize belongs to none but the sincere, 
The least obliquity is fatal here. 

"With caution taste the sweet Circean 
He that sips often, at last drinks it up. 
Habits are soon assumed ; but when we stride 
To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive. 
Call'd to the temple of impure delight, 
He that abstains, and he alone, does right. 
If a wish wander that way, call it home ; 
He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. 
But if you pass the threshold, you are caught ; 
Die then, if power Almighty save you not. 
There hardening by degrees, till double steel'd. 
Take leave of nature's Grod, and Grod reveal'd ; 
Then laugh at all you trembled at before ; 
And, joining the freethinkers' brutal roar, 
Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense- 
That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense. 
If clemency revolted by abuse 
Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse. 

Some dream that they can silence, when they v» ill, 
The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still : 
But " Thus far and no farther," when address'd 
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
Implies authority that never can, 
That never ought to be the lot of man. 

But, muse, forbear ; long flights forebode a fall ; 
Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. 

Hear the just law — the judgment of the skies ! 
He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies ; 
And he that will be cheated to the last, 
Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast. 
But if the wanderer his mistake discern, 
Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, 
Bewilder 'd once, must he bewail his loss 
For ever and for ever ? No — the cross ! 
There and there only (though the deist rave ? 
And atheist, if Earth bear so base a slave) ; 
There and there only is the power to save. 
There no delusive hope invites despair ; 
No mockery meets you, no deception there. 
The spells and charms, that blinded you before. 
All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 

I am no preacher, let this hint suffice — 
The cross once seen is death to every vice ; 
Else He that hung there sufferd all his pain, 
Bled, groan'd, and agonised, and died, in vain. 



TRUTH. 



PoneantUT tmtina — Hor. Lib. ii. Ejn L 



Man, on the dubious waves of error toss'd, 
His ship half founder'd, and his compasa lost. 
Sees, far as human optics may command, 
& sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land ; 
Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies ; 
Pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies ! 
Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes, 
His well-built systems, philosophic dreams ; 
Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell ! 
He reads his sentence at the flames of hell. 

Hard lot of man — to toil for the reward 
Of virtue, and yet lose it ! Wherefore hard 1 — 
He that would win the race must guide his horse 
Obedient to the customs of the course ; 
Else, though unequall'd to .the goal he flies, 
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. 
Grace leads the right way : if you choose the wrong.. 
Take it and perish ; but restrain your tongue ; 
Charge not, with light sufficient and left free, 
Your wilful suicide on (rod's decree. 

how unlike the complex works of man, 
Heav'n's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan ! 
No meretricious graces to beguile, 
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; 
From ostentation, as from weakness, free, 
It stands like the cerulian arch we see, 
Majestic in its own simplicity. 
Inscribed above the portal, from afar 
Conspicuous as the brightness of a star, 
Legible only by the light they give, 
Stand the soul-quickening words — believe, and livr. 
Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, 
Despise the plain direction, and are lost. 
Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud disdain) 



29 



Incredible, impossible, and vain ! — 

Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey ; 

And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way. 

These are the sober, in whose cooler brains 

Some thought of immortality remains ; 

The rest too busy or too gay to wait 

On the sad theme, their everlasting state, 

Sport for a day, and perish in a night; 

The foam upon the waters not so light. 

Who judged the Pharisee ] What odious cause 
Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws ] 
Had he seduced a virgin, wrong 'd a friend, 
Or stabVd a man to serve some private end] 
Was blasphemy his sin ? Or did he stray 
From the strict duties of the sacred day] 
Sit long and late at the carousing board] 
(Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.) 
No — the man's morals were exact. "What then ] 
VFwas his ambition to be seen of men; 
His virtues were his pride ; and that one vice 
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price; 
He wore them as fine trappings for a show, 
A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. 

The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see — 
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he ! 
Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfuld 
His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold: 
He treads as if, some solemn music near, 
His measured step were govern'd by his ear; 
And seems to say — Ye meaner fowl give place ; 
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace ! 

Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, 
Though he, too, has a glory in his plun 
He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien 
To the close copse or far sequester'd green, 
And shines without desiring to be seen. 
The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, 
Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain; 
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect, 
Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. 
Tfi hat is all righteousness that men devise] 
What — but a sordid bargain for the skies ! 
But Christ as soon would abdicate his own, 
As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a throne. 

His dwelling a recess in some rude rock; 
Book, beads, and maple dish, his meagre stock; 
In shirt of hair and weeds of canvas dress'd, 
Girt with a bell-rope that the Pope has bless'd; 
Adust with stripes told out for every crime, 
And sore tormented, long before his time; 
His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid, 
His praise postponed, and never to be paid; 
See the sage hermit, by mankind admired, 
With all that bigotry adopts inspired. 



SO cowper's poems. 



Wearing out life in his religious whirn, 

Till his religious whimsy wears out him. 

His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd, 

You think him humble — Grod accounts him proud. 

High in demand, though lowly in pretence, 

Of all his couduct this the genuine sense — 

My penitential stripes, my streaming blood, 

Have purchased heaven, and proved my title good. 

Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply 

To your weak sight her telescopic eye. 

The Bramin kindles on his own bare head 

The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade ! 

His voluntary pains, severe and long, 

Would give a barbarous air to British song ; 

No grand inquisitor could worse invent, 

Than he contrives to suffer well content. 

Which is the saintlier worthy of the t vo ) 
Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. 
Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name 1 
I say the Bramin has the fairer claim. 
If sufferings Scripture nowhere recommends, 
Devised by self, to answer selfish ends, 
Grive saintship, then all Europe must agree 
Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. 
The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear, 
And-prejudice have left a passage clear) 
Pride has attain'd a most luxuriant growth, 
And poison'd every virtue in them both. 
Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean ; 
Humility may clothe an English dean ; 
That grace was Cowper's — his, confess'd by all — 
Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. 
Not all the plenty of a bishop's board, 
His palace, and his lacqueys, and " My Lord," 
More nourish pride, that condescending vice, 
Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice ; 
It thrives in misery, and abundant grows : 
In misery fools upon themselves impose. 

But why before us Protestants produce 
An Indian mystic or a French recluse 1 
Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, 
Reform'd and well instructed ] You shali hear. 

Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show 
She might be young some forty years ago, 
Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, 
Her head erect, her fan upon her lips, 
Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray 
To watch yon amorous couple in their play, 
With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies 
The rude inclemency of wintry skies, 
And sails with lappet head and mincing airs 
Duly at clink of bell to morning prayers. 
To thrift and parsimony much inclined, 
She yet allows herself that boy behind; 



31 



The shivering urchin, bending as he goes, 
With slipshod heels and dew drop at his nose, 
His predecessor's coat advanced to wear, 
Which future pages yet are doom'd to share, 
Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, 
And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. 

She, half an angel in her own account, 
Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount, 
Though not a grace appears on strictest search, 
But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. 
Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, 
And tells, not always with an eye to truth, 
Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came. 
Sera wl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name; 
Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, 
And drank the little bumper every day. 
Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, 
Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; 
In faithful memory she records the crimes, 
Or real, or fictitious, of the times ; 
Laughs at the reputations she has torn, 
And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn. 

Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, 
Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : 
Take, madam, the reward of all your prayers, 
Where hermits and where Bramins meet with theirs 
Your portion is with them. — Nay, never frown, 
But, if you please, some fathoms lower down. 

Artist, attend — your brushes and your paint — 
Produce them — take a chair — now draw a saint. 
Oh, sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tear3 
Channel her cheeks — a Niobe appears ! 
Is this a saint ] Throw tints and all awaj— 
True piety is cheerful as the day, 
Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan 
For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. 

What purpose has the King of saints in view 1 
Why falls the gospel like a gracious dew ] 
To call up plenty from the teeming earth, 
Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth] 
Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved 
From servile fear, or be the more enslaved ? 
To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, 
Or bind them faster on, and add still more] 
The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, 
Or, if a chain, the golden one of love : 
No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, 
What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 
Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrought, 
Recompense ill ] He trembles at the thought. 
His Master's interest and his own combined 
Prompt every movement of his heart and miad : 
Thought, word, and deed, his liberty evince, 
His freedom is the freedom of a prince. 



52 COWPEK S POEMS. 

Man's obligations infinite, of course 
His life should prove that he perceives their force ; 
His utmost he can render is but small — 
The principle and motive all in all. 
You have two servants — Tom, an arch, sly rogue, 
From top to toe the Greta now in vogue, 
Genteel in figure, easy in address, 
Moves without noise, and swift as an express, 
Reports a message with a pleasing grace, 
Expert in all the duties of his place ; 
Say, on what hinge does his obedience move ] 
Has he a world of gratitude and love 1 
No, not a spark — 'tis all mere sharper's play ; 
He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay ; 
Reduce his wages, or get'rid of her, 
Tom quits you, with — Your most obedient, sir. 

The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand, 
Watches your eye, anticipates command ; 
Sighs, if perhaps your appetite should fail ; 
And, if he but suspects a frown, turns pale ; 
Consults all day your interest and your ease, 
Richly rewarded if he can but please ; 
And, proud to make his firm attachment known, 
To save your life would nobly risk his own. 

Now which stands highest in your serious thought ? 
Charles, without doubt, say you — and so he ought ; 
One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, 
Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. 

Thus Heaven approves as honest and sincere 
The work of generous love and filial fear ; 
But with averted eyes the omniscient Judge 
Scorns the base hireling and the slavish drudge. 

"Where dwell these matchless saints] old Curio cries 
E'en at your side, sir, and before your eyes, 
The favour'd few — the enthusiasts you despise. 
And, pleased at heart because on holy ground, 
Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, 
Reproach a people with his single fall, 
And cast his filthy raiment at tliem all. 
Attend ! an apt similitude shall shew 
"Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. 

See where it smokes along the sounding plain, 
Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, 
Peal upon peal redoubling all around, 
Shakes it again and faster to the ground ; 
Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, 
Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away, 
Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed, 
And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed ; 
Now drench 'd throughout, and hopeless of his ca£D, 
He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. 
Suppose, unlook'd-for in a scene so rude, 
Long hid by interposing hill or wood, 
Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd, 



TRUTH. 83 

By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, 
Offer him warmth, security, and rest ; 
Think with what pleasure, safe, and at his ease, 
He hears the tempest howling in the trees ; 
"What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, 
While danger past is turn'd to present joy. 
So fares it with the sinner, when he feels 
A growing dread of vengeance at his heels : 
His conscience like a glassy lake before, 
Lash'd into foaming waves, begins to roar ; 
The law, grown clamorous, though silent long, 
Arraigns him, charges him with every wrong — 
Asserts the right of his offended Lord, 
And death, or restitution, is the word : 
The last impossible, he fears the first, 
And, having well deserved, expects the worst. 
Then welcome refuge and a peaceful home ; 

for a shelter from the wrath to come ! 
Crush me, ye rocks ; ye falling mountains, hide, 
Or bury me in ocean's angry tide ! — 

The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes 

1 dare not — And you need not, Gfod replies ; 
The remedy you want I freely give ; 

The Book shall teach you — read, believe, and live ! 
'Tis done— the raging storm is heard no more, 
Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore : 
And Justice, guardian of the dread command, 
Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. 
A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; 
Hence the complexion of his future days, 
Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd, 
And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. 

Some lead a life unblameable and just, 
Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust ; 
They never sin — or if (as all offend) 
Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, 
The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, 
A slight gratuity atones for all. 
For though the Pope has lost his interest here, 
And pardons are not sold as once they were, 
No Papist more desirous to compound, 
Than some grave sinners upon English ground. 
That plea refuted, other quirks they seek — 
Mercy is infinite, and man is weak ; 
The future shall obliterate the past. 
And heaven, no doubt, shall be their home at last. 

Come, then — a still, small whisper in your ear — 
He lias no hope who never had a fear; 
And he that never doubted of his state, 
He may perhaps — perhaps he may — too late. 

The path to bliss abounds with many a snare; 
Learning is one, and wit, however rare. 
The Frenchman, first in literary fame 
(Mention him, if you please. Voltaire? — The same), 



S4 OOWrKR S POEMS. 



With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied, 

Lived long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died; 

The Scripture was his jest-hook, whence he drew 

Bon-mots to gall the Christian and the Jew ; 

An infidel in health, but what when sick ] 

Oh — then a text would touch him at the quick ; 

View him at Paris in his last career, 

Surrounding throngs the demi-god revere; 

Exalted on his pedestal of pride, 

And fumed with frankincense on every side, 

He begs their flattery with his latest breath, 

And, smother'd in't at last, is praised to death ! 

Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, 
Pillow and bobbins all her little store ; 
Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, 
Shuffling her threads about the live-long day, 
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light ; 
She, for her humble sphere by nature fit, 
Has little understanding, and no wit, 
Receives no praise ; but though her lot be such 
(Toilsome and indigent), she renders much ; 
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true — 
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew ; 
And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes, 
Her title to a treasure in the skies. 
Oh, happy peasant ! Oh, unhappy bard ! 
His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward ; 
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come, 
She never heard of half a mile from home : 
He, lost in errors, his vain heart prefers, 
She, safe in the simplicity of hers. 

Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound 
In science win one inch of heavenly ground. 
And is it not a mortifying thought 
The poor should gain it, and the rich should not ? 
No — the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget 
One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret ; 
Regret would rouse them, and give birth to prayer, 
Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them ther$ 

Not that the Former of us all in this, 
Or aught he does, is govern'd by caprice; 
The supposition is replete with sin, 
And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. 
Not so — the silver trumpet's heavenly call 
Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all : 
Kings are invited, and would kings obey, 
No slaves on earth more welcome were than they ; 
But royalty, nobility, and state, 
Are such a dead preponderating weight, 
That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem), 
In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 
'Tis open, and ye cannot enter — why ? 
Because ye will not, Conyers would reply — 










- ■ -_ - 

I 



TRUTH. 



36 



And he says much that many may dispute 
And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 
Oh, bless'd effect of penury and want, 
The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant ! 
No soil like poverty for growth divine, 
As leanest land supplies the richest wine. 
Earth gives too little, giving only bread, 
To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head: 
To them the sounding jargon of the schools 
Seems what it is — a cap and bells for fools : 
The light they walk by, kindled from above, 
Shews them the shortest way to life and love : 
They, strangers to the controversial field, 
Where deists, always foil'd, yet scorn to yield, 
And never check'd by what impedes the wise, 
Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. 

Envy, ye great, the dull unletter'd small : 
Ye have much cause for envy — but not all. 
We boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sway?, 
And one who wears a coronet, and prays; 
Like gleanings of an olive-tree, they shew 
Here and there one upon the topmost bough. 

How readily, upon the Gospel plan. 
That question has its answer — "What is man 1 
Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch ; 
An instrument, whose chords, upon the stretch, 
And strain 'd to the last screw that he can bear, 
Yield only discord in his Maker's ear; 
Once the blest residence of truth divine, 
Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine, 
Where, in his own oracular abode, 
Dwelt visibly the light-creating God; 
But made long since, like Babylon of old, 
A den of mischiefs never to be told : 
And she, once mistress of the realms around, 
Now scatter'd wide and nowhere to be found, 
As soon shall rise and re-ascend the throne, 
By native power and energy her own, 
As nature, at her own peculiar cost, 
Restore to man the glories he has lost. 
(to — bid the winter cease to chill the year, 
Replace the wandering comet in his sphere. 
Then boast (but wait for that unhoped-for hour) 
The self-restoring arm of human power. 
But what is man in his own proud esteem ] 
Hear him — himself the poet and the theme : 
A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, 
His mind his kingdom, and his will his law; 
Grace in his mien, and glory in his eyes, 
Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies, 
Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod, 
And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a God ! 

So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and torm, 
The song magnificent — the theme a worm 1 



36 cowper's poems. 



Himself so much the source of his delight, 
His Maker has no beauty in his sight. 
See where he sits, contemplative and fix'd, 
Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd, 
His passions tamed and all at his control, 
How perfect the composure of his soul ! 
Complacency has breathed a gentle gale 
O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail : 
His books well trimmM, and in the gayest style, 
Like regimental coxcombs, rank and file, 
Adorn his intellects as well as shelves, 
And teach him notions splendid as themselves : 
The Bible only stands neglected there, 
Though that of all most worthy of his care; 
And, like an infant troublesome awake, 
Is left to sleep for peace and quiet sake. 

What shall the man deserve of human kind, 
Whose happy skill and industry combined 
Shall prove (what argument could never yet) 
The Bible an imposture and a cheat] 
The praises of the libertine profess'd, 
The worst of men, and curses of the best. 
Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes; 
The dying, trembling at the awful close; 
Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd; 
The thousands whom the world forbids to rest; 
Where should they find (those comforts at an end, 
The Scripture yields), or hope to find, a friend] 
Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, 
And, seeking exile from the sight of men, 
Bury herself in solitude profound, 
Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground. 
Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, 
Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. 
The jury meet, the coroner is short, 
And lunacy the verdict of the court. 
Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known, 
Such lunacy is ignorance alone ; 
They knew not, what some bishops may not know, 
That Scripture is the only cure of woe. 
That field of promise how it flings abroad 
Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road I 
•The soul, reposing on assured relief, 
Feels herself happy amidst all her grief, 
Forgets her labour as she toils along, 
Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 

But the same word, that, like the polish'd 
Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care, 
Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow, 
That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. 
Oh, that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, 
Sad messenger of mercy from above ! 
How does it grate upon his thankless ear, 
Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear I 



31 



His will and judgment at continual strife, 

That ciTil war embitters all his life; 

In vain he points his powers against the skies, 

In vain he closes or averts his eyes, 

Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware ■ 

And shakes the sceptic in the scorner's chair. 

Though various foes against the Truth combine. 

Pride above all opposes her design ; 

Pride of a growth superior to the rest, 

The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, 

Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage, 

Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. 

And is the soul indeed so lost? — she cries, 
Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise] 
Torpid and dull, beneath a frozen zone, 
Has she no spark that may be deem'd her owz I 
Grant her indebted to what zealots call 
Grace undeserved, yet surely not for all! 
Some beams of rectitude she yet displays, 
Some love of virtue, and some power to praise ; 
Can lift herself above corporeal things, 
And, soaring on her own unborrow'd wing3, 
Possess herself of all that's good or true, 
Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 
• Past indiscretion is a venial crime ; 
And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time, 
Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude, 
Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, 
Maturer years shall happier stores produce, 
And meliorate the well-concocted j nice. 
Then, conscious of her meritorious zeal, 
To Justice she may make her bold appeal; 
And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind, 
The worthless and unfruitful of mankind, 
Hear then how Mercy, slighted and defied, 
Retorts the affront against the crown of pri 

Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd, 
And the fool with it, who insults his Lord. 
The atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought 
Is not for you — the righteous need it not. 
Seest thou yon harlot, wooing all she meets, 
The worn-out nuisance of the public streets, 
Herself from morn to night, from night to i 
Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn 'i 
The gracious shower, unlimited and free, 
Shall fall on her, when Heaven denies it thee. 
Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift — 
That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. 

Is virtue, then, unless of Christian growth, 
Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both ? 
Ten thousand sages lost in endless woe, 
For ignorance of what they could not know ?— 
That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue, 
Charge not a Grod with such outrageous wrong ! 



88 cowper's poems. 



Truly, not I — the partial light men have, 

My creed persuades me, well employ 'd, may save; 

While he that scorns the noon-day beam, perverse, 

Shall find the blessing, unimproved, a curse. 

Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 

.Left sensuality and dross behind, 

Possess, for me, their undisputed lot, 

And take, unenvied, the reward they sought, 

But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea, 

Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. 

Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame 

Celestial, though they knew not whence it came, 

Derived from the same source of light and grace, 

That guides the Christian in his swifter race ; 

Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law; 

That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe, 

Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow, 

From what they knew to what they wish'd to know. 

But let not him that shares a brighter day 

Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray, 

Prefer the twilight of a darker time, 

And deem his base stupidity no crime ; 

The wretch, who slights the bounty of the skies. 

And sinks, while favour'd with the means to rise, 

Shall find them rated at their full amount, 

The good he scorn'd all carried to account. 

Marshalling all his terrors as he came, 
Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame, 
From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law — 
Life for obedience — death for every flaw. 
When the great Sovereign would his will express, 
He gives a perfect rule, what can he less? 
And guards it with a sanction as severe 
As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear : 
Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim, 
And man might safely trifle with his name. 
He bids him glow with unremitting love 
To all on earth, and to himself above ; 
Condemns the injurious deed, the slanderous tongue 
The thought that meditates a brother's wrong: 
Brings not alone the more conspicuous part, 
His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. 

Hark! universal nature shook and groan'd, 
'Twas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned : 
Rouse all your courage at your utmost need, 
Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 
What! silent] Is your boasting heard no morel 
That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before, 
Had shed immortal glories on your brow, 
That all your virtues cannot purchase now. 

All joy to the believer ! He can speak — 
Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. 

Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot, 
And cut up all my follies by the root* 



n i 



I never trusted in an arm but thine, 
Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine. 
My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, 
Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; 
Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part, 
That they proceeded from a grateful heart: 
Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, 
Forgive their evil and accept their good : 
I cast them at thy feet — my only plea 
Is what it was, dependence upon thee : 
While struggling in the vale of tears below, 
That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now, 

Angelic gratulations rend the skies, 
Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise, 
Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize. 



EXPOSTULATION 



T&ntane, tam patiens, nullo certamine tolll 
D*>aaeia8S? Via* 



Why _ eeps tlie muse for England] What appear* 

In England's case to move the muse to tears ? 

From side to side of her delightful isle 

Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile ] 

Can Nature add a charm, or Art confer 

A new-found luxury, not seen in her? 

Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued. 

Or where does cold reflection less intrude ? 

Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn, 

Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn ; 

Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies 

The fervour and the force of Indian skies ; 

Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits 

To pour his golden tide through all her gates ; 

Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice 

Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice, 

Forbid in vain to push his daring way 

To darker climes, or climes of brighter day ; 

Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, 

From the World's girdle to the frozen pole ; 

The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn street^ 

Her vaults below, where every vintage meets ; 

Her theatres, her revels, and her sports ; 

The scenes to which not youth alone resorts, 

But age, in spite of weakness and of pain, 

Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again ; 

All speak her happy : let the muse look round 

From East to West, no sorrow can be found • 

Or only what, in cottages confined. 

Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 

Then wherefore weep for England 1 What appears 

In England's case to move the muse to tears ] 

The prophet wept for Israel ; wish'd his eyes 
Were fountains fed with infinite supplies ; 
For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong; 
There were the scorner's and the slanderer's tongue; 
Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools, 
As interest biass'd knaves, or fashion fools ; 
Adultery, neighing at his neighbour's door ; 
Oppression labouring hard to grind the poor » j 
1 



EXPOSTULATION. 



The partial balance and deceitful weight ; 

The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate ; 

Hypocrisy, formality in prayer, 

And the dull service of the lip were there. 

Her women, insolent and self-caress'd, 

By Vanity's unwearied finger dress'd, 

Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart 

To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art ; 

Were just such trifles, without worth or use, 

As silly pride and idleness produce ; 

Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced around, 

With feet too delicate to touch the ground, 

They stretch'd the neck, and roll'dthe wanton eye^ 

And sighed for every fool that flutter'd by. 

He saw his people slaves to every lust 
Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust; 
He heard the wheels of an avenging God 
Groan heavily along the distant road ; 
Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass 
To let the military deluge pass ; 
Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd, 
Her princes captive, and her treasures spoil'd ; 
Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, 
Stamp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh ; 
But wept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in Yam { 
Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain, 
And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit 
Ears long accustom'd to the pleasing lute : 
They scorn'd his inspiration and his theme, 
Pronounc'd him frantic, and his fears a dream; 
With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours, 
Till the foe found them, and down fell the towers. 

Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, 
Till penitence had purged the public stain, 
And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, 
Return'd them happy to the land they loved ; 
There, proof against prosperity, a while 
They stood the test of her ensnaring smile, 
And had the grace in scenes of peace to shew 
The virtue they had learn'd in scenes of woe. 
But man is frail, and can but ill sustain 
A long immunity from grief and pain ; 
And, after all the joys that Plenty leads, 
With tiptoe step Yice silently succeeds. 

When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod, 
In form a man, in dignity a God, 
Came, not expected in that humble guise, 
To sift and search them with unerring eyes, 
He found conceal'd beneath a fair outside, , 
The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride $ 
Their piety a system of deceit, 
Scripture employ' d to sanctify the cheat ', 
The Pharisee the dupe of his own art, 
Self-idolised, and yet a knave at heart. 



*2 COWFER S POEMS. 



When nations are to perish in their sins, 
'Tis in the church the leprosy "begins ; 
The priest, whose office is, with zeal sincere, 
To watch the fountain and preserve it clear, 
Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, 
While others poison what the flock must drink ; 
Or, waking at the call of lust alone, 
Infuses lies and errors of his own : 
His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure ; 
And, tainted by the very means of cure, 
Catch from each other a contagious spot, 
The foul forerunner of a general rot. 
Then truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach ; 
And all is trash that reason cannot reach ; 
Then God's own image on the soul impress'd 
Becomes a mockery and a standing jest; 
And faith, the root whence only can arise 
The graces of a life that wins the skies, 
Loses at once all value and esteem, 
Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream : 
Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth ; 
While truths, on which eternal things depend, 
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend : 
As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 
Happy to fill religion's vacant place, 
With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. 

Such, when the Teacher of his church was there. 
People and priest, the sons of Israel were ; 
Stiff in the letter, lax in the design 
And import of their oracles divine ; 
Their learning legendary, false, absurd, 
And yet exalted above Grod's own word ; 
They drew a curse from an intended good, 
Puff'd up with gifts they never understood. 
He judged them with as terrible a frown. 
As if not love, but wrath, had brought him do^ra i 
Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs, 
Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs ; 
Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran — 
Rhetoric is artifice, the work of man ; 
And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise, 
Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. 
The astonish'd vulgar trembled while he tore 
The mask from faces never seen before ; 
He stripped the impostors in the noonday sun, 
Shew'd that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun; 
Their prayers made public, their excesses kept 
As private as the chambers where they slept; 
The temple and its holy rites profaned 
By mummeries He that dwelt in it disdain"*! j 
Uplifted hands, that at convenient times 
Could act extortion and the worst of crimes 



EXPOSTULATION. 



43 



Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice, 
And free from every taint but that of vice. 
Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace 
When obstinacy once has conquer'd grace. 
They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored, 
In answer to the fiat of his word ; 
Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue 
Blasphemed the authority from which it sprung. 
They knew, by sure prognostics seen on high, 
The future tone and temper of the sky ; 
But, grave dissemblers ! could not understand 
That sin let loose speaks punishment at hand. 

Ask now of history's authentic page, 
And call up evidence from every age ; 
Display with busy and laborious hand 
The blessings of the most indebted land ; 
What nation will you find, whose annals prove 
So rich an interest in Almighty love ] 
Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day 
A people planted, water'd, blest, as they ? 
Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim 
The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name ; 
Their freedom purchased for them at the cost 
Of all their hard oppressors valued most : 
Their title to a country not their own 
Made sure by prodigies till then unknown ; 
For them the states they left made waste and void ; 
For them the states to which they went destroy'd ; 
A cloud to measure out their march by day, 
By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way ; 
That moving signal summoning, when best, 
Their host to move, and, when it stay'd, to ] 
For them the rocks dissolved into a flood, 
The dews condensed into angelic food, 
Their very garments sacred, old yet new, 
And Time forbid to touch them ss he flew ; 
Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand 
WLile they pass'd through to their appointed land ; 
Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love, 
And graced with clear credentials from above ; 
Themselves secured beneath the Almighty wing ; 
Their Grod their captain,* lawgiver, and king ; 
Crown'd with a thousand victories, and at last 
Lords of the conquer'd soil, there rooted fast, 
In peace possessing what they won by war, 
Their name far published, and revered as far ; 
Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd 
With all that man e'er wish'd, or heaven bestowM ? 

They, and they only, amongst all mankind, 
Received the transcript of the Eternal Mind ; " 
Were trusted with his own engraven laws, 
And constituted guardians of his cause ; 



* Vide Josb. ▼. 34 



U C0WPER S POEMS. 



Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call, 
And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. 
In vain the nations, that had seen them rise 
With fierce and envious, yet admiring, eyes.. 
Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were 
By power divine and skill that could not err. 
Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure, 
And kept the faith immaculate and pure, 
Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome 
Had found one city not to be overcome ; 
And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd 
Had bid defiance to the warring world. 
But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds^ 
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds. 
Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, 
They set up self, that idol god within ; 
View'd a Deliverer with disdain and hate, 
Who left them still a tributary state ; 
Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free 
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree : 
There was the consummation and the crown, 
The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; 
Thence date their sad declension, and their fall, 
Their woes, not yet repeal'd, thence date them all. 

Thus fell the best instructed in her day, 
And the most favour'd land, look where we may. 
Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes 
Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies ; 
In other climes perhaps creative art, 
With power surpassing theirs, perform'd her part ; 
Might give more life to marble, or might fill 
The glowing tablets with a juster skill, 
Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes 
With all the embroidery of poetic dreams ; 
'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan 
That truth and mercy had reveal'd to man ; 
And, while the world beside, that plan unknown, 
Deified useless wood or senseless stone, 
They breathed in faith their well-directed prayers, 
And the true Gfod, the Gfod of truth, was theirs. 

Their glory faded, and their race dispersed, 
The last of nations now, though once the first, 
They warn and teach the proudest, would theyleara, 
Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn : 
If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, 
Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus ; 
If vice received her retribution due, 
When we were visited, what hope for you I 
When Gfod arises with an awful frown, 
To punish lust, or pluck presumption down, 
When gifts perverted, or not duly prized, 
Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despised, 
Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand. 
To pour down wrath upon a thankless land : 



EXPOSTULATION. 



45 



He will be found impartially severe, 

Too j List to wink, or speak the guilty clear. 

Oh Israel, of all nations most undone ! 
Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; 
Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and razed, 
And thou a worshipper e'en where thou may.it, 
Thy services, once holy without spot, 
Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; 
Thy Levites, once a consecrated host, 
No longer Levites, and their lineage lost, 
And thou thyself o'er every country sown, 
With none on earth that thou canst call thine own ; 
Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust, 
Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust ; 
Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears ; 
Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears ; 
But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 

What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar, 
And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ] 
Mistress, at least while Providence shall please, 
And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas — 
Why, having kept good faith, and often shewn 
Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none ? 
Thou that hast set the persecuted free, 
None interposes now to succour thee. 
Countries indebted to thy power, that shine 
With light derived from thee, would smother thine. 
Thy very children watch for thy disgrace, 
A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. 
Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, 
With sums Peruvian mines could never clear ; 
As if, like arches built with skilful hand, 
The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand. 

The cry in all thy ships is still the same, 
Speed us away to battle and to fame. 
Thy mariners explore the wild expanse, 
Impatient to descry the flags of France : 
But, though they fight as thine have ever 'fought, 
Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought. 
Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
Chaos of contrarieties at war ; 
Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light, 
Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; 
Where obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, 
To disconcert what policy has plann'd ; 
Where policy is busied all night long 
In setting right what faction has setwrong ; 
Where flails of oratory thresh the floor, 
That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more, 
Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, 
Tax'd till the brow of labour sweats in vain ; 
War lays a burden on the reeling state, 
And peace does nothing to relieve the weight ; 
Successive loads succeeding broils impose, 



^ 



46 COWPER S POEMS. 



And sighing millions prophesy the close. 

Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well, 
So dimly writ, or difficult to spell, 
Thou canst not read with readiness and ease 
Providence adverse in events like these ] 
Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball 
Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all ; 
That, while laborious and quick-th ought ed man 
Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, 
He first conceives, then perfects his design, 
As a mere instrument in hands divine : 
Blind to the working of that sacred power 
That balances the wings of every hour, 
The busy trifler dreams himself alone, 
Frames many a purpose, and Gfod works his own. 
States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane? 
E'en as his will and his decrees ordain ; 
While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway, 
They flourish ; and, as these decline, decay : 
In just resentment of his injured laws, 
He pours contempt on them and on their cause ; 
Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart 
The web of every scheme they have at heart ; 
Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust 
The pillars of support, in which they trust, 
And do his errand of disgrace and shame 
On the chief strength and glory of the frame. 
None ever yet impeded what he wrought, 
None bars him out from his most secret thought ; 
Darkness itself before his eye is light, 
And hell's close mischief naked in his sight. 

Stand now and judge thyself — Hast thou incurrM 
His anger who can waste thee with a word, 
Who poises and proportions sea and land, 
Weighing them in the hollow of his hand, 
And in whose awful sight all nations seem 
As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream] 
Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) 
Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars \ 
Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem 
Of his just praise, to lavish it on them 1 
Hast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told, 
A truth still sacred, and believed of old, 
That no success attends on spears .and swords 
Unblest, and that the battle is the Lord's] 
That courage is his creature ; and dismay 
The post, that at his bidding speeds away, 
Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue 
With doleful humour and sad presage hung, 
To quell the valour of the stoutest heart, 
And teach the combatant a woman's part % 
That he bids thousands fly when none pursue, 
Saves as he will by many or by few, 
And claims for ever, as his royal right, 



EXPOSTULATION. 47 



The event and sure decision of the fight '( 

Hast thou, though suckled at fair freedom's breast, 
Exported slavery to the conquer'd East ? 
PulFd down the tyrants India served with dread, 
And raised thyself, a greater, in their stead] 
Gone thither, arm'd and hungry, return'd full, 
Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, 
A despot big with power obtain'd by wealth, 
And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth '] 
With Asiatic vices stored thy mind, 
But left their virtues and thine own behind t 
And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee, 
To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee 1 

Hast thou by statute shoved from its design, 
The Saviour's feast, his own blest bread and wme, 
And made the symbols of atoning grace 
An office-key, a picklock to a place, 
That infidels may prove their title good 
By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood ] 
A blot that will be still a blot, in spite 
Of all that grave apologists may write ; 
And though a bishop toil'd to cleanse the stain, 
He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 
And hast thou sworn, on every slight pretence, 
Till perjuries are common as bad pence, 
While thousands, careless of the damning sin, 
Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look within ] 

Hast thou, when Heaven has clothed thee with disgrace, 
And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face 
(For thou hast known eclipses, and endured 
Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured, 
When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow ; 
And never of a sabler hue than now), 
Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience sear'd, 
Despising all rebuke, still persevered, 
And, having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice 
That cried, Repent! — and gloried in thy choice] 
Thy fastings, when calamity at last 
Suggests the expedient of a yearly fast, 
What mean they ] Canst thou dream there is a power 
In lighter diet at a later hour, 
To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies, 
And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ] 
The fast that wins deliverance, and suspends 
The stroke that a vindictive God intends, 
Is to renounce hypocrisy; to draw 
Thy life upon the pattern of the law ; 
To war with pleasure, idolized before ; 
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. 
All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence, 
Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence. 

Hast thou within thee sin, that in old time 
Brought fire from heaven, the sex- abusing crime* 
Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace, 



COWPER'S POEMS. 



Baboons are free from, upon human race 1 
Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot 
That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, 
Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsafed on earth, 
Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth, 
Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, 
Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire : 
Then nature, injured, scandalized, defiled, 
Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smiled ; 
Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced , 
And praised the wrath that laid her beaoties waste. 

Far be the thought from any verse of mine, 
And farther still the form'd and fix'd design, 
To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest 
Against an innocent unconscious breast; 
The man that dares traduce, because he caa 
With safety to himself, is not a man : 
An individual is a sacred mark, 
Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark ; 
But public censure speaks a public foe, 
Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow. 

The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, 
From mean self-interest and ambition clear, 
Their hope in heaven, servility their scorn, 
Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn, 
Their wisdom pure, and given them from abo 1 ? 5, 
Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love, 
As meek as the man Moses, and withal 
As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul, 
Should fly the world's contaminating touch, 
Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such 1 
Except a few with Eli's spirit blest, 
Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. 

Where shall a teacher look, in days like the3e, 
For ears and hearts that he can hope to please 1 
Look to the poor — the simple and the plain 
Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : 
Humility is gentle, apt to learn, 
Speak but the word, will listen and return. 
Alas ! not so ; the poorest of the flock 
Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ; 
Denied that earthly opulence they choose, 
Grod's better gift they scoff at and refuse. 
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem, 
Are more intelligent, at least — try. them. 
Oh vain inquiry ! they without remorse 
Are altogether gone a devious course ; 
Where beckoning pleasure leads them, wildly stray; 
Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 

Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, 
Review thy dim original and prime. 
This island, spot of unreclaimed rude earth, 
The cradle that received thee at thy birth, 
Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, 



EXPOSTULATION. 



49 



And Danish bowlings scared thee as they pass'd; 
For thou wast born amid the din of arms, 
And snck'd a breast that panted with alarms. 
"While yet thou wast a grovelling, puling chit, 
Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, 
The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, 
Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now. 
His victory was that of orient light, 
When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. 
Thy language at this distant moment shews 
How much the country to the conqueror owes ; 
Expressive, energetic, acd refined, 
It sparkles with the gems he left behind ; 
He brought thy land a blessing when he came, 
He found thee savage, and he left thee tame ; 
Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide, 
And grac'd thy figure with a soldier's pride ; 
He soVd the seeds of order where he went, 
Improved thee far beyond his own intent, 
And, while he ruled thee by the sword alone, 
Made thee at last a warrior like his own. 
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, 
Needs only to be seen to be admired ; 
But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, 
"Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight ; 
Thy druids struck the well-hung harps they bore 
With fingers deeply dyed in human gore ; 
And while the victim slowly bled to death, 
Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. 
Who brought the lamp that with awaking beams 
Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, 
Tradition now decrepit and worn out, 
Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : 
But still light reach 'd thee : and those gods of thine, 
Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, 
Fell broken and defaced at their own door. 
As Dagon in Philistia long before. 
But Rome with sorceries and magic wand 
Soon raised a cloud that darken'd every land ; 
And thine was smother'd in the stench and fog 
Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. 
Then priests with bulls and briefs, and shaven crown? 
And griping fists and unrelenting frowns, 
Legates and delegates with powers from hell, 
Though heavenly in pretension, fieeced thee well ; 
And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, 
Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.* 
Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack, 
Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smacl, 
And, when he laid them on the scent of blood, 
Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood. 
Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb, 
That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, 

# Wliich maj be found at Doctor's Common*. 



50 COWPER S POEMS. 



They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies, 

His worthless absolution all the prize. 

Thou wast the veriest slave, in days of yore, 

That ever dragg'd a chain or tugg'd an oar ; 

Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust, 

Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, 

Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 

Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press. 

Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, 

Provoked and hara&s'd, in return plagued thee ; 

Call'd thee away from peaceable employ, 

Domestic happiness and rural joy, 

To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down 

In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own. 

Thy parliaments adored; on bended knees, 

The sovereignty they were convened to please ; 

Whatever was ask'd, too timid to resist, 

Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd ; 

And if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd, 

And, blushing at the tameness of the rest, 

Dared to suppose the subject had a choice, 

He was a traitor by the general voice. 

Oh, slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert, 

Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert ; 

It shakes the sides of splenetic disdain, 

Thou self- entitled ruler of the main, 

To trace thee to the date," when yon fair sea, 

That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee ; 

When other nations flew from coast to coast, 

And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. 

Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust; 

Blush if thou canst ; not petrified, thou must ; 

Act but an honest and a faithful part ; 

Compare what then thou wast with what thou art; 

And Grod's disposing providence confess'd, 

Obduracy itself must yield the rest. — 

Then thou art bound to serve him, and to prove, 

Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. 

Has he not hid thee and thy favour'd land, 
For ages, safe beneath his sheltering hand, 
Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof, 
Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof, 
And charged hostility and hate to roar 
Where else they would, but not upon thy shore? 
His power secured thee when presumptuous Spain 
Baptized her fleet invincible in vain; 
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd 
To every pang that racks an anxious mind, 
Ask'd of the waves that br)ke upon his coast, 
What tidings ] and the surge replied — All lost ! * 
And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, 
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot, 
pierced to the very centre of the realm, 
And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 



EXPOSTULATION. 



'Twas but to prove how quickly, with a frown, 

He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down. 

Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, 

Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest; 

Thy thunders travel over earth and seas, 

And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 

'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, 

Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm, 

"While his own heaven surveys the troubled scene, 

And feels no change, unshaken and serene. 

Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine, 

Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine ; 

Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays 

As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. 

True freedom is where no restraint is known 

That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown. 

Where only vice and injury are tied, 

And all from shore to shore is free beside. 

Such freedom is — and Windsor's hoary towers 

Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers, 

That won a nymph on that immortal plain, 

Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain; 

He found the laurel only — happier you 

The unfading laurel, and the virgin too ! * 

Now think, if pleasure have a thought to spare ; 
If God himself be not beneath her care ; 
If business, constant as the wheels of time, 
Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme ; 
If the new mail thy merchants now receive, 
Or expectation of the next, give leave ; 
Oh think, if chargeable with deep arrears 
For such indulgence gilding all thy years, 
How much, though long neglected, shining yet, 
The beams of heavenly truth have swelFd the debt. 
When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
With tortured innocence in Mary's court, 
And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, 
Enjoy'd the show, and danced about the stake, 
The sacred book, its value understood, 
Received the seal of martyrdom in blood. 
Those holy men, so full of truth and grace, 
Seem to reflection of a different race, 
Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, 
In such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 
They could not purchase earth with such a prize, 
Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. 
From them to thee convey'd along the tide, 
Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they died j 
Those truths, which neither use nor years impair, 
Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. 
What dotage will not vanity maintain] 
What web too weak to catch, a modern brain 1 

* Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted from King John by 
khe barons at Runnymede near Windsor. 



52 cowper's poems. 



The moles and bats in full assembly find. 

On special search, the keen-eyed eagle blind. 

And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ] 

Prove it — if better, I submit and bow. 

Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart 

Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 

So then — as darkness overspread the deep, 

Ere nature rose from her eternal sleep, 

And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, 

Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High ; 

By such a change thy darkness is made light, 

Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might ; 

And He, whose power mere nullity obeys, 

Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise. 

To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil, 

Doing and suffering, his unquestion'd will ; 

'Tis to believe what men inspired of old, 

Faithful, and faithfully inform'd, unfold ; 

Candid and just, with no false aim in view, 

To take for truth what cannot but be true ; 

To learn in Gfod's own school the Christian part, 

And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart : 

Happy the man there seeking and there found : 

Happy the nation where such men abound ! 

How shall a verse impress thee ] by what name 
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame] 
By theirs whose bright example, unimpeach'd, 
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd, 
Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires 1 
Or his, who toucli'd their hearts with hallow'd firef 
Their names, alas ! in vain reproach an age, 
Whom all the vanities they scorn'd engage ; 
And his, that seraphs tremble at, is hung 
Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, 
Or serves the champion in forensic war, 
To flourish and parade with at the bar. 
Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, 
If interest move thee, to persuade e'en thee , 
By every charm that smiles upon her face, 
By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase, 
If dear society be worth a thought, 
And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, 
P*eflect that these, and all that seems thine owe- 
Held by the tenure of his will alone, 
Like angels in the service of their Lord, 
Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word ; 
That gratitude, and temperance in our use 
Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse, 
Secure the favour, and enhance the joy, 
That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. 
But, above all, reflect how cheap soe'er 
Those rights, that millions envy thee, appear, 
And though resolved to risk them, and swim doT?a 
The tide of pleasure, heedless of his frown, 



EXPOSTULATION. 



53 



That blessings truly sacred., and when given 
Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven, 
The word of prophecy, those truths divine, 
Which make that heaven, if thou desire it, thine 
(Awful alternative ! believed, beloved, 
Thy glory, and thy shame if unimproved), 
Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside 
With cold disgust or philosophic pride ; 
And that, judicially withdrawn, disgrace, 
Error, and darkness, occupy their place. 

A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot 
Not quickly found, if negligently sought, 
Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, 
Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all ; 
And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise 
A bolder still, a contest with the skies ] 
Remember, if He guard thee and secure, 
Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure ; 
But if He leave thee, though the skill and power 
Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour, 
Were all collected in thy single arm, 
And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm, 
That strength would fail, opposed against the push 
And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. 

Say not (and if the thought of such defence 
Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) 
What nation amongst all my foes is free 
From crimes as base as any charged on me 1 
Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt, 
Which Grod, though long forborne, will not forget. 
But know that wrath divine, when most severe, 
Makes justice still the guide of his career, 
And will not punibh, in one mingled crowd, 
Them without light, and thee without a cloud. 

Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech, 
Still murmuring with the solemn truths I teach ; 
And, while at intervals a cold blast sings 
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, 
My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament 
A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. 
I know the warning song is sung in vain : 
That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain ; 
But if a sweeter voice, and one designed 
A blessing to my country and mankind, 
Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home 
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam, 
Then place it once again between my knees ; 
The scund of truth will then be sure to please : 
And truth alone, where'er my life be cast, 
In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, 
Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. 



HOPE, 



. . Doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas. — Virg. iEu. 6. 



Ask what is human life — the sage replies, 

With disappointment lowering in his eyes, 

A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 

A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 

A scene of fancied bliss and heartfelt care, 

Closing at last in darkness and despair. 

The poor, inured to drudgery and distress, 

Act without aim, think little, and feel less, 

And nowhere, bvt in feign'd Arcadian scenes, 

Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 

Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand, 

As fortune, vice, or folly may command ; 

As in a dance the pair that take the lead 

Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, 

So shifting and so various is the plan 

By which Heaven rules the mix'd affairs of man ; 

Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, 

The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud ; 

Business is labour, and man's weakness such, 

Pleasure is labour too, and tires us much, 

The very sense of it foregoes its use, 

By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 

Youth lost in dissipation we deplore, 

Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore ; 

Our years, a fruitless race without a prize, 

Too many, yet too few to make us wise. 

Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, 
Lothario cries, What philosophic stuff— 
querulous and weak ! — whose useless brain 
Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; 
Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, 
Whose prospect shews thee a disheartening waste; 
Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, 
And youth invigorate that frame again, 
Renew'd desire would grace with other speech 
Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 

For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom 
That overhangs the borders of thy tomb, 



HOPE. 56 

See nature gay, as when she first began 

With smiles alluring her admirer man ; 

She spreads the morning over eastern hills, 

Earth glitters with the drops the night distils ; 

The sun, obedient, at her call appears 

To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears ; 

Banks clothed with flowers, groves fill'd with sprightly sounds, 

The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, 

Streams, edged with osiers, fattening every field 

"Where'er they flow, now seen, and now conceal'd ; 

From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, 

Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, 

Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise. 

Or pride can look at with indifferent eyas, 

All speak one language, all with one sweet voice 

Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice ! 

Man feels the spur of passions and desires, 

And she gives largely more than he requires ; 

Not that, his hours devoted all to care, 

Hollow-eyed abstinence, and lean despair, 

The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, 

She holds a paradise of rich delight ; 

But gently to rebuke his awkward fear, 

To prove that what she gives she gives sincere, 

To banish hesitation, and proclaim 

His happiness her dear, her only aim. 

'Tis grave philosophy's absurdest dream , 

That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem, 

That only shadows are dispensed below, 

And earth has no reality but woe. 

Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue, 
As youth or age persuades ; and neither true. 
So, Flora's wreath through colour 'd crystal seen, 
The rose or lily appears blue or green, 
But still the imputed tints are those alone 
The medium represents, and not their own. 

To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, 
To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best, 
Till half the world comes rattling at his door, 
To fill the dull vacuity till four ; 
And, just when evenmg turns the blue vault gray. 
To spend two hours in dressing for the day ; 
To make the sun a bauble without use, 
Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce ; 
Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, 
Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not ; 
Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise ; 
Is such a life, so tediously the same, 
So void of all utility or aim, 
That poor Jonquil, with almost every breath, 
Sighs for his exit, vulgarly called death : 
For he, with all his follies, has a mind 
Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind, 



6fi CWPER S POEMS. 



But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
Of distant wisdom shoots across his way ; 
By which he reads,, that life without a plan, 
As useless as the moment it began, 
Serves merely as a soil for discontent 
To thrive in ; an encumbrance ere half speut. 
Oh ! weariness beyond what asses feel, 
That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel ; 
A dull rotation, never at a stay, 
Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; 
While conversation, an exhausted stock, 
Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. 
No need, he cries, of gravity stuff'd out 
With academic dignity devout, 
To read wise lectures, vanity the text : 
Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next ; 
For truth self-evident, with pomp impressed, 
Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 

That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, 
Yet seldom sought where only to be found, 
While passion turns aside from its due scope 
The inquirer's aim, that remedy is Hope. 
Life is his gift, from whom whate'er life needs. 
With every good and perfect gift, proceeds ; 
Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake. 
Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake; 
Transient indeed, as is the fleeting hour, 
And yet the seed of an immortal flower ; 
Design'd, in honour of his endless love, 
To fill with fragrance his abode above ; 
No trifle, howsoever short it seem, 
And, howsoever shadowy, no dream. ; 
Its value, what no thought can ascertain, 
Nor all an angel's eloquence explain. 
Men deal with life as children with their play 
Who first misuse, then cast their toys away ; 
Live to no sober purpose, and contend 
That their Creator had no serious end. 
When Grod and man stand opposite in view, 
Man's disappointment must, of course, ensue. ■ 
The just Creator condescends to write, 
In beams of inextinguishable lieht, 
His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and 1ot% 
On all that blooms below, or shines above ; 
To catch the wandering notice of mankind, 
And teach the world, if not perversely blind, 
His gracious attributes, and prove the share 
His offspring hold in his paternal care. 
If, led from earthly things to things divine, 
His creature thwart not his august design, 
Then praise is heard instead of reasoning priae f 
And captious cavil and complaint subside. 
Nature, employ'd in her allotted place, 
Is handmaid to the purposes of grace ; 



By good vouchsafed makes known superior good, 
And bliss not seen by blessings understood : 
That bliss, reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow 
Bright as the covenant-insuring bow, 
Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn 
Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born. 

Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all 
That men have deem'd substantial since the fall, 
Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 
From emptiness itself a real use ; 
And while she takes, as at a father's hand, 
What health and sober appetite demand, 
From fading good derives, with chemic art, 
That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. 
Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth, 
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, 
On steady wings sails through the immense abyss, 
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, 
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. 
Hope, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast 
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. 
Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure 
His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure. 
Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, 
Whom now despairing agonies destroy, 
Speak, for he can, and none so well as he, 
What treasures centre, what delights, in thee. 
Had he the gems, the spices, and the land, 
That boasts the treasure, all at his command , 
The fragrant grove, the inestimable mine. 
Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thins 

Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms, 
He shines with all a cherub's artless charms, 
Man is the genuine offspring of revolt, 
Stubborn and sturdy, a wild ass's colt ; 
His passions, like the watery stores that sleep 
Beneath the smiling surface of the deep, 
Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm, 
To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. 
From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, 
Froward at school, and fretful in his plays, 
The puny tyrant burns to subjugate 
The free republic of the whip-gig state. 
If one, his equal in athletic frame, 
Or, more provoking still, of nobler name, 
Dare step across his arbitrary views, 
An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues : 
The little Greeks look trembling at the scales, 
Till the best tongue or heaviest hand prevails. 

Now see him launch d into the world at largo ; 
If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge, 
Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl, 
Though short, too long, the price he pays for alL 



68 C0WPER S POEMS. 



If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead, 

But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. 

Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees, 

Punctually paid for lengthening out disease ; 

No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays, 

That make superior skill his second praise. 

If arms engage him, he devotes to sport 

His date of life so likely to be short ; 

A soldier may be anything, if brave, 

So may a tradesman, if not quite a knave. 

Such stuff the world is made of; and mankind 

To passion, interest, pleasure, whim, resign'd, 

Insist on, as if each were his own pope, 

Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope ; 

But conscience, in some awful silent hour, 

When captivating lusts have lost their power, 

Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream, 

Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! 

Starts from the down, on which she lately slept, 

And tells of laws despised, at least not kept ; 

Shews with a pointing finger, but no noise, 

A pale procession of past sinful joys, 

All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd, 

And life abused, and not to be suborn'd. 

Mark these, she says ; these, summon 'd from afar. 

Begin their march to meet thee at the bar ; 

There find a Judge inexorably just, 

And perish there, as all presumption must. 

Peace be to those (such peace as earth can give) 
Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while they live ; 
Born capable indeed of heavenly truth ; 
But down to latest age, from earliest youth, 
Their mind a wilderness through want of care, 
The plough of wisdom never entering there. 
Peace (if insensibility may claim 
A right to the meek honours of her name) 
To men of pedigree, their noble race. 
Emulous always of the nearest place 
To any throne, except the throne of grace, 
Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swains 
Eevere the laws they dream that Heaven ordains ; 
Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer, 
And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there. 
Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat 
To enjoy cool nature in a country seat, 
To exchange the centre of a thousand trades, 
For clumps, and lawns-, and temples, and cascades, 
May now and then their velvet cushions take, 
And seem to pray for good example sake ; 
Judging, in charity no doubt, the town 
Pious enough, and having need of none. 
Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to prize 
What they themselves, without remorse, despise : 
Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come, 



As well for tlieni liad prophecy been dumb ; 
They could have held the conduct they pursue, 
Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew ; 
And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they, 
Is a pearl cast — completely cast away. 

They die. — Death lends them, pleased, and as in sport. 
All the grim honours of his ghastly court. 
Far other paintings grace the chamber now, 
Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow : 
The busy heralds hang the sable scene 
With mournful 'scutcheons, and dim lamps between ; 
Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, 
But they that wore them move not at the sound ; 
The coronet, placed idly at their head, 
Adds nothing now to the degraded dead. 
And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, 
Can only say — Nobility lies here. 
Peace to all such — 'twere pity to offend, 
By useless censure, whom we cannot mend, 
Life without hope can close but in despair, 
'Twas there we found them, and must leave them there. 

As when two pilgrims in a forest stray, 
Both may be lost, yet each in his own way ; 
So fares it with the multitudes beguiled 
In vain opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; 
Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among, 
Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong, 
But here, alas ! the fatal difference lies, 
Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; 
And he that blames what they have blindly chose, 
Incurs resentment for the love he shews. 

Say, botanist, within whose province fall 
The cedar and the hyssop on the wall, 
Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers, 
What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowers 1 
Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined, 
Distinguish every cultivated kind ; 
The want of both denotes a meaner breed, 
And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. 
Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect 
Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect, 
If wild in nature, and not duly found, 
Gi-ethsemane ! in thy dear hallow'd ground, 
That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light, 
Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight, 
Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 
(Oh cast them from thee !) are weeds, arrant weeds. 

Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways, 
Diverging each from each, like equal rays, 
Himself as bountiful as April rains, 
Lord paramount of the surrounding plains, 
Would give relief of bed and board to none, 
But guests that sought it in the appointed One; 
And they might enter at his open door, 



. 



CO COW PER S POEMS. 

E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more. 

He sent a servant forth by every road, 

To sound his horn and publish it abroad, 

That ail might mark — knight, menial, high, and low- 

An ordinance it concern'd them much to know. 

If, after all, some headstrong, hardy lout 

Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, 

Could he with reason murmur at his case, 

Himself sole author of his own disgrace ] 

No ! the decree was just and without flaw ; 

And he that made had right to make the law ; 

His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrain'd, 

The wrong was his who wrongfully complain'd. 

Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife 
"With him the Donor of- eternal life, 
Because the deed, by which his love confirms 
The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. 
Compliance with his will your lot insures, 
Accept it only, and the boon is yours. 
And sure it is as kind to smile and give, 
As with a frown to say, Do this, and live. 
Love is not pedlar's trumpery, bought and sold ; 
He will give freely, or he will withhold; 
His soul abhors a mercenary thought, 
And him as deeply who abhors it not ; 
He stipulates indeed, but merely this, 
That man will freely take an unbought bli ^, 
Will trust him for a faithful, generous part, 
Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 
Of all the ways that seem to promise fair, 
To place you where his saints his presence share, 
This only can ; for this plain cause, express'd 
In terms as plain — himself has shut the rest. 
But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate, 
The tidings of unpurchased heaven create ! 
The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss, 
All speakers, yet all language at a loss. 
From stuccoed walls smart arguments rebound ; 
And beaus, adepts in everything profound, 
Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. 
Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, 
The explosion of the levell'd tube excites, 
Where mouldering abbey walls o'erhang the gl 
And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade. 
The screaming nations, hovering in mid air, 
Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, 
And seem to warn him never to repeat 
His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. 

Adieu, Yinosa cries, ere yet he sips 
The purple bumper trembling at his lips, 
Adieu to ail morality ! if grace 
Make works a vain ingredient in the case. 
The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork— 
If I mistake not— -Blockhead ! with a fork I 



Without good works, whatever some may "boast, 

Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. 

My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, 

That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his crimes 

"With nice attention in a righteous scale, 

And sa,ve or damn as these or those prevail. 

I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, 

And silence every fear with — Grod is just. 

But if perchance, on some dull, drizzling day, 

A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, 

If thus the important cause is to be tried, 

Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side ; 

I soon recover from these needless frights, 

And — God is merciful — sets all to rights. 

Thus between justice, as my prime support, 

And mercy, fled to as the last resort, 

I glide and steal along with heaven in view, 

And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 

I never will believe, the Colonel cries. 
The sanguinary schemes that some devise, 
Who make the good Creator, on their plan, 
A being of less equity than man. 
If appetite, or what divines call lust, 
Which men comply with, e'en because they must, 
Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure ] 
Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure. 
If sentence of eternal pain belong 
To every sudden slip and transient wrong, 
Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail 
A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail. 
My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean 
By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene), 
My creed is, he is safe that does his best, 
And death's a doom sufficient for the rest. 

Right, says an ensign ; and for aught I see, 
Your faith and mine substantially agree ; 
The best of every man's performance here 
Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. 
A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair, 
Honesty shines with great advantage there. 
Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, 
A decent caution and reserve at least. 
A soldier's best is courage in the field, 
With nothing here that wants to be conceaTd : 
Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ; 
A hand as liberal as the light of day. 
The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks, 
Nor closets up his thoughts, whatever he thinks, 
Who scorns to do an injury by stealth, 
Must go to heaven — and I must drink his health 
Sir Smug, he cries (for lowest at the board, 
Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, 
His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug, 
How much his feelings suffer'd, sat Sir Smug), 



62 cowper's poems. 



Your office is to winnow false from true ; 

Come, prophet, drink, and tell us, What think you 1 

Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, 
Which they that woo preferment rarely pass, 
Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies, 
Is still found fallible, however wise ; 
And differing judgments serve but to declare. 
That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. 
Of all it ever was my lot to read, 
Of critics now alive or long since dead, 
The book of all the world that charm'd me most 
Was, — well-a-day, the title-page was lost ; 
The writer well remarks, a heart that knows 
To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows, 
With prudence always ready at our call, 
To guide our use of it, is all in all. 
Doubtless it is. To which, of my own store, 
I superadd a few essentials more ; 
But these, excuse the liberty I take, 
I wave just now, for conversation's sake. 
Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, 
And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd name* 

And yet our lot is given us in a land 
Where busy arts are never at a stand ; 
Where science points her telescopic eye, 
Familiar with the wonders of the sky ; 
Where bold inquiry, diving out of sight, 
Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light ; 
Where nought eludes the persevering quest, 
That fashion, taste, or luxury suggest. 

But above all, in her own light array'd, 
See Mercy's grand apocalypse display'd! 
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong, 
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue; 
But speaks with plainness art could never mend, 
What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. 
Grod gives the word, the preachers throng around, 
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound : 
That sound bespeaks salvation on her way, 
The trumpet of a life-restoring day ; 
'Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines, 
And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines. 
And still it spreads. See Germany send forth 
Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north : 
Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy 
The rage and rigour of a polar sky, 
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose 
On icy plains, and in eternal snows. 

blest within the in closure of your rocks, 
Not herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks ; 
•Nor fertilizing streams your fields divide, 
That shew, reversed, the villas on their side; 
No groves have ye ; no cheerful sound of bird, 

* The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. — See Krant*. 



63 



Or voice of turtle in your land is heard ; 
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell 
Of those that walk at evening where ye dwell; 
But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown, 
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne ; 
Piles up his stores amidst the frozeu waste, 
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast j 
Beckons the legions of his storms away 
From happier scenes, to make your land a prey ; 
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, 
And scorns to share it with the distant sun. 
— Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle ! 
And peace the genuine offspring of her smile ; 
The pride of letter'd ignorance that binds 
In chains of error our accomplished minds, 
That decks, with all the splendour of the true, 
A false religion, is unknown to you. 
Nature indeed vouchsafe? for our delight 
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night : 
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer 
Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here ; 
But brighter beams than his who fii es the skies 
Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, 
That shoot into your darkest caves the day, 
From which our nicer optics turn away. 

Here see the encouragement grace gives to vice, 
The dire effect of mercy without price ! 
"What were they 1 what some fools are made by arl, 
They were by nature, atheists, head and heart. 
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach 
Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. 
Not e'en the glorious sun, though men revere 
The monarch most that seldom will appear, 
And though his beams, that quicken wdiere they shine, 
May claim some right to be esteemed divine, 
Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare, 
Could bend one knee, engage one votary there ; 
They were, w r hat base credulity believes 
True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. 
The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast, 
Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest, 
Was one, whom justice, on an equal plan, 
Denouncing death upon the sins of man, 
Might almost have indulged with an escape, 
Chargeable only with a human shape. 

What are they now 1 — Morality may spare 
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there ; 
The wretch who once sang wildly, danced, and laugh'd, 
And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught, 
Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways, 
Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays, 
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, 
Abhors the craft he boasted of before, 
And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. 



64 



COWPERS POEMS. 



Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing, 
"Where sprang the thorn, the spiry fir shall spring. 
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew, 
Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. 

Go now, and with important tone demand 
On what foundation virtue is to stand, 
If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift, 
And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift ; 
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes 
Glistening at once with pity and surprise, 
Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight 
Of one, whose birth was in a land of light, 
Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free* 
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. 

These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied 
The common care that waits on all beside, 
Wild as if nature there, void of all good, 
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood 
(Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plaxm'd 
A plaything world, unworthy of his hand), 
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks 
In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works ; 
Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, 
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. 
Hard task indeed o'er arctic seas to roam ! 
Is hope exotic] grows it not at home'? 
Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn, 
May press the eye too closely to be borne ; 
A distant virtue we can all confess, 
It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less. 

Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek 
I slur a name a poet must not speak) 
Stood pilloried on infamy's high stage, 
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age, 
The very butt of slander, and the blot 
For every dart that malice ever shot. 
The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd 
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd j 
His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, 
And perjury stood up to swear ail true ; 
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, 
His speech rebellion against common sense ; 
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule ; 
And when by that of reason, a mere fool ; 
The world's best comfort was, his doom was passM: 
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last. 

Now, Truth, perform thine office ; waft aside 
The curtain drawn by prejudice and pride, 
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes 
This more than monster in his proper guise. 
He loved the world that hated him : the tear 
That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere ; 
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, 
His only answer was a blameless life ; 



66 



And lie that forged, and he that threw the dart, 

Had each a brother's interest in his heart. 

Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, 

Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. 

He followed Paul ; his zeal a kindred flame, 

His apostolic charity the same. 

Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, 

Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease ; 

Like him he labour 'd, and like him content 

To bear it, suffer 'd shame where'er he went. 

Blush, calumny ! and write upon his tomb, 

If honest eulogy can spare thee room, 

Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies, 

"Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended skies | 

And say, Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored, 

Against thine image, in thy saint, Lord ! 

No blinder bigot, I maintain it still, 
Than he who must have pleasure, come what will ; 
He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, 
And deems her sharp artillery mere straw ; 
Scripture indeed is plain ; but God and he 
On Scripture ground are sure to disagree ; 
Some wiser rule must teach him how to live, 
Than this his Maker has seen fit to give ; 
Supple and flexible as Indian cane, 
To take the bend his appetites ordain ; 
Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case, 
And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. 
By this, with nice precision of design, 
He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line, 
That shews how far 'tis safe to follow sin, 
And where his danger and Grod's wrath begin. 
By this he forms, as pleased he sports along, 
His well-poised estimate of right and wrong ; 
And finds the modish manners of the day. 
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. 

Build by whatever plan caprice decrees, 
With what materials, on what ground you please, 
Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired, 
If not that hope the Scripture has required. 
The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams, 
W ith which hypocrisy for ever teems 
(Though other follies strike the public eye, 
And raise a laugh), pass unmolested by; 
But if, unblameable in word and thought, 
A man arise, a man whom Grod has taught, 
With all Elijah's dignity of tone, 
And all the love of the beloved John, 
To storm the citadels they build in air, 
And smite the untemper 'd wall ; "'tis death to spare. 
To sweep away all refuges of lies, 
And place, instead of quirks themselves devise, 
Lama sabacthani before their eyes ; 
To prove that without Christ all gain is loss. 



66 C0WPER S POEMS. 

All hope despair, that stands not on his cross ; 
Except the few his Grod may have impress'd, 
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. 

Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least, 
There dwells a consciousness in every breast, 
That folly ends where genuine hope begins, 
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins. 
Nature opposes, with her utmost force, 
This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce, 
And, while Religion seems to be her view, 
Hates with a deep sincerity the true : 
For this, of all that ever influenced man, 
Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began, 
This only spares no lust, admits no plea, 
But makes him, if at all, completely free; 
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car, 
Of an eternal, universal war ; 
Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles, 
Scorns with the same indifference frowns and smiles ; 
Drives through the realms of sin, where riot reels, 
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! 
Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art, 
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart, 
Insensible of Truth's almighty charms, 
Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arm3 J 
While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears, 
His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, 
Mighty to parry and push by Grod's Word 
With senseless noise, his argument the sword, 
Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, 
And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. 

Parent of Hope, immortal Truth ! make known 
Thy deathless wreaths and triumphs all thine own. 
The silent progress of thy power is such, 
Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, 
That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, 
And none can teach them but whom thou hast taught. 
Oh see me sworn to serve thee, and command 
A painter's skill into a poet's hand ! 
That, while I trembling trace a work divine, 
Fancy may stand aloof from the design, 
And light and shade, and every stroke, be thine. 

If e7er thou hast felt another's pain, 
If ever when he sigh'd hast sigh'd again, 
If ever on thy eyelid stood the tear 
That pity had engender'd, drop one here. 
This man was happy — had the world's good word, 
And with it every joy it can afford; 
Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 
Which most should sweeten his untroubled life; 
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race, 
Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, 
And whether at the toilet of the fair 
He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there, 






67 



Or, if in masculine debate lie shared, 
Ensured Mm mute attention and regard. 
Alas ! how changed! Expressive of his mind, 
His eves are sunk, arms folded, head reclined; 
Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin, 
Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within ; 
That conscience there performs her proper part, 
And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart ! 
Forsaking and forsaken of all friends, 
He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends; 
Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care, 
And harder still as learnt beneath despair ! 
His hours no longer pass unmark'd away, 
A dark importance saddens every day ; 
He hears the notice of the clock, perplex'd, 
And cries, Perhaps eternity strikes next! 
Sweet music is no longer music here, 
And laughter sounds like madness in his ear : 
His grief the world of ail her power disarms ; 
TVine has no taste, and beauty has no charms : 
(rod's holy Word, once trivial in his view, 
Now by the voice of his experience true, 
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone 
.Must spring that hope he pants to make his own. 

Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; 
Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
As when a felon, whom his country's laws 
Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause, 
Expects, in darkness and heart-chilling fears, 
The shameful close of all his misspent years 3 
If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
A tempest usher in the dreaded morn, 
Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play„ 
The thunder seems to summon him away ; 
The warder at the door his key applies, 
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies : 
If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, 
"When Hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost. 
The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear, 
He drops at once his fetters and his fear ; 
A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, 
And the first thankful tears bedew bis cheeks. 
Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 
The comfort of a few poor added days, 
Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 
Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. 
'Tis heaven, all heaven, descending on the wings 
Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 
'Tis more — 'tis God diffused through every part, 
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart." 
welcome now the sun's once hated light, 
His noonday beams were never half so bright. 
Not kindred minds alone are call'd to employ 
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy 



68 COWPEIt'S POEMfe. 



Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, 

Kocks, groves, and streams must join him in his praise. 

These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, 
The scoff of witker'd age and beardless youth ; 
These move the censure and illiberal grin 
Of fools that hate thee and delight in sin : 
But these shall last when night has quench'd the pole^ 
And heav'n is all departed as a scroll. 
And when, as justice has long since decreed, 
This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed, 
Then these thy glorious works, and they who share 
That hope which can alone exclude despair, 
Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, 
The brightest wonders of an endless day. 

Happy the bard (if that fair name belong 
To him that blends no fable with his song) 
Whose lines, uniting, by an honest art, 
The faithful monitor's and poet's part, 
Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind^ 
And, while they captivate, inform the mind : 
Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, 
And fruit reward his honourable toil : 
But happier far, who comfort those that wait 
To hear plain truth at Judah's hallo w'd gate : 
Their language simple, as their manners meek, 
No shining ornaments have they to seek ; 
Nor labour they, nor time, nor talents, waste, 
In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste ; 
But, while they speak the wisdom of the skies, 
Which art can only darken and disguise, 
The abundant harvest, recompence divine, 
"Repays their work — the gleaning only mine 



CHARITY. 



Qua nihil majus meliusye terris 
Fata donavSre, bonique divi ; 
Nee dabunt, quamvia redeant in aurcm 
Tempora priscum. 

Hob. lib. iv Odt? 2, 



Fairest and foremost of the train that wait 

On man's most dignified and happiest state, 

Whether we name thee Charity or Love, 

Chief grace below, and all in all above, 

Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea) 

A task I venture on, impelTd by thee : 

Oh never seen but in thy blest effects, 

Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects ; 

Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known 

To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 

Come, prompt me with benevolent desires, 

Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, 

And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem 

A poet's name, by making thee the theme. 

Grod, working ever on a social plan, 
By various ties attaches man to man : 
He made at first, though free and unconfined, 
One man the common father of the kind ; 
That every tribe, though placed as he sees best, 
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest, 
Differing in language, manners, or in face, 
Might feel themselves allied to all the race. 
When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just 
As ever mingled with heroic dust — 
Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown, 
And in his country's glory sought his own, 
Wherever he found man to nature true, 
The rights of man were sacred in his view; 
He soothed with gifts, and greeted with a smile. 
The simple native of the new-found isle ; 



COWPER'S POEMS. 



He spurn'd the wretch that slighted or withstood 
The tender argument of kindred blood ; 
Nor would endure that any should control 
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. 

But, though some nobler minds a law respect, 
That none shall with impunity neglect, 
In baser souls unnumber'd evils meet, 
To thwart its influence, and its end defeat. 
While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, 
See Cortez odious for a world enslaved ! 
Where wast thou then, sweet Charity ] where then, 
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men 1 
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, 
Or building hospitals on English ground? 
No. — Mammon makes the world his legatee 
Through fear, not love ; and Heaven abhors the tee. 
Wherever found (and all men need thy care), 
Nor age, nor infancy could find thee there. 
The hand that slew till it could slay no more, 
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. 
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne 
As vain imperial Philip on his own, 
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art, 
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart, 
Died, by the sentence of a shaven priest, 
For scorning what they taught him to detest. 
How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze 
Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways ! 
Gfod stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; 
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof : 
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, 
The fretting plague is in the public purse, 
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state, 
Starved by that indolence their mines create. 

Oh, could their ancient Incas rise again, 
How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ! 
Art thou too fallen, Iberia] Do we see 
The robber and the murderer weak as we ? 
Thou, that has wasted earth, and dared despise 
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, 
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid 
Low in the pits thine avarice has made. 
We come with joy from our eternal rest 
To see the oppressor in his turn oppress'd. 
Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand 
Roll'd over all our desolated land, 
Shook principalities and kingdoms down, 
And made the mountains tremble at his frown 1 
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers., 
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. 
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils, 
And vengeance executes what justice wills. 

Again — the band of commerce was designed 
To associate all the branches of mankind j 



CHARITY. 



tl 



And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 
Wise to promote whatever end he means, 
God opens fruitful Nature's various scenes : 
Each climate needs what other climes produce. 
And offers something to the general use ; 
No land but listens to the common call, 
And in return receives supply from all. 
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid, 
Cheers what were else a universal shade, 
Calls nature from her ivy-mantled den, 
And softens human rock-work into men. 
Ingenious Art, with her expressive face, 
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race ; 
Not only fills necessity's demand, 
But overcharges her capacious hand : 
Capricious taste itself can crave no more 
Than she supplies from her abounding store : 
She strikes out all that luxury can ask, 
And gains new vigour at her endless task. 
Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, 
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ; 
From her the canvas borrows light and shade, 
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. 
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, 
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, 
And pours a torrent of sweet notes around 
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. 

These are the gifts of art ; and art thrives mo?t 
Where Commerce has enrich'd the busy coast ; 
He catches all improvements in his flight, 
Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, 
Imports what others have invented well, 
And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 
'Tis thus, reciprocating each with each, 
Alternately the nations learn and teach ; 
While Providence enjoins to ev'ry soul 
A union with the vast terraqueous whole. 

Heaven speed the canvas gallantly unfurl'd 
To furnish and accommodate a world, 
To give the pole the produce of the sun, 
And knit the unsocial climates into one. 
Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave 
Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save, 
To succour wasted regions, and replace 
The smile of opulence in sorrow's face. 
Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, 
Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene, 
Charged with a freight transcending in its worth 
The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth, 
That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 
A herald of God's love to pagan lands ! 
But ah ! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, 
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge, and span, 

And buy the muscles and the bones of man 1 

The tender ties of father, husband, friend, 

All bonds of nature in that moment end ; 

And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, 

A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. 

The sable warrior, frantic with regret 

Of her he loves, and never can forget, 

Loses in tears the far-receding shore, 

But not the thought that they must meet no more ; 

Deprived of her and freedom at a blow, 

What has he left that he can yet forego ] 

Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd, 

He feels his body's bondage in his mind ; 

Puts off his generous nature, and to suit 

His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. 

Oh most degrading of all ills that wait 
On man, a mourner in his best estate ! 
All other sorrows virtue may endure, 
And find submission more than half a cure ; 
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd 
To improve the fortitude that bears the load ; 
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase 5 
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace ; 
But slavery ! — Virtue dreads it as her grave : 
Patience itself is meanness in a slave ; 
Or, if the will and sovereignty of God 
Bid suffer it a while, and kiss the rod, 
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, 
And snap the chain the moment when you may. 
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, 
That has a heart and life in it, Be free ! 
The beasts are charter'd — neither age nor force 
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : 
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack ; 
And, conscious of an unencumbered back, 
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein ; 
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane ; 
Responsive to the distant neigh, he neighs ; 
Nor stops, till, overleaping all delays, 
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. 

Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name. 
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame ] 
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead 
Expedience as a warrant for the deed ? 
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold 
To quit the forest and invade the fold : 
So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide, 
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ; 
Not he, but his emergence forced the door, 
He found it inconvenient to be poor. 
Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, 
Unless his laws be trampled on — in vain 1 
Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist, 




- 



73 



Unless his right to rale it be dismissed'? 
Impudent blasphemy ! So folly pleads, 
And, avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. 

But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, 
That man make man his prey, because he must ; 
Still there is room for pity to abate 
And soothe the sorrows or so sad a state. 
A Briton knows, or if he kno^s it not, 
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought, 
That souls have no discriminating hue, 
Alike important in their Maker's view ; 
That none are free from blemish since the fall, 
And love divine has paid one price for all. 
The wretch that works and weeps without relief 
Has One that notices his silent grief. 
He, from whose hand alone all power proceeds, 
B-anks its abuse among the foulest deeds, 
Considers all injustice with a frown ; 
But marks the man that treads his fellow down. 
Begone ! — the whip and bell in that hard hand 
Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command. 
Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim 
To scourge him, weariness his only blame. 
Remember, Heaven has an avenging rod, 
To smite the poor is treason against Gfod ! 

Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd, 
While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd : 
We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, 
Murmuring and weary of our daily toil, 
Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's ofl'er'd shade, 
Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade : 
Else who would lose, that had the power to improve 
The occasion of transmuting fear to love ] 
Oh, 'tis a godlike privilege to save ! 
And he that scorns it is himself a slave. 
Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day 
Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. 
" Beauty for ashes " is a gift indeed, 
And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed. 
Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, 
While gratitude and love made service sweet, 
My dear deliverer out of hopeless night, 
Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 
I was a bondman on my native plain, 
Sin forged, and ignorance made fast, the chain ; 
Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, 
Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue ; 
Farewell my former joys ! I sigh no more 
For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ; 
Serving a benefactor, I am free ; 
At my best home, if not exiled from thee. 

Some men make gain a fountain whence proceeds 
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; 
The swell of pity, not to be confined 



74 cowper's poems. 



Within the scanty limits of the mind, 
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, 
A rich deposit, on the bordering lands : 
These have an ear for his paternal call, 
Who make some rich for the supply of all ; 
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ; 
And Thornton is familiar with the joy. 

Oh, could I worship aught beneath the skies 
That earth has seen, or fancy can devise, 
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, 
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, 
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair 
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. 
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height 
The peep of morning shed a dawning light, 
Again, when evening in- her sober vest 
Drew the grey curtain of the fading west, 
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise 
For the chief blessings of my fairest days ; 
But that were sacrilege — praise is not thine, 
But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : 
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly 
A captive bird into the boundless sky, 
This triple realm adores thee — thou art come 
From Sparta hither, and art here at home. 
We feel thy force still active, at this hour 
Enjoy immunity from priestly power, 
While conscience, happier than in ancient years, 
Owns no superior but the (rod she fears. 
Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong 
Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. 
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share 
The fears and hopes of a commercial care. 
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt ; 
But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and floods 
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood ; 
And honest merit stands on slippery ground, 
Where covert guile and artifice abound. 
Let just restraint, for public peace design'd, 
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind ; 
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, 
But let insolvent innocence go free. 

Patron of else the most despised of men, 
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen; 
Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed, 
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed ; 
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame 
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim) 
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. 
Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign 
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, 
To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, 
To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe, 



75 



To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home, 
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, 
But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, 
And only sympathy like thine could reach; 
That grief, sequester'd from the public stage, 
Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage ; 
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal, 
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. 
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate, 
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, 
Were hush'd in favour of thy generous plea, 
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee 1 

Philosophy, that does not dream or stray, 
Walks arm in arm with nature all his way ; 
Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 
Whatever steep inquiry recommends, 
Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll 
Round other systems under her control, 
Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light, 
That cheers the silent journey of the night, 
And brings at his return a bosom charged 
With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged. 
The treasured sweets of the capacious plan, 
That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man. 
All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue 
Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new ; 
He too has a connecting power, and draws 
Man to the centre of the common cause, 
Aiding a dubious and deficient sight 
With a new medium and a purer light. 
All truth is precious, if not all divine ; 
And what dilates the powers must needs refine. 
He reads the skies, and, watching every change, 
Provides the faculties an ampler range ; 
And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, 
A prouder station on the general scale. 
But reason still, unless divinely taught, 
Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought ; 
The lamp of revelation only shews, 
What numan wisdom cannot but oppose, 
That man, in nature's richest mantle clad, 
And graced with all philosophy can add, 
Though fair without, and luminous within, 
Is still the progeny and heir ot sin. 
Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride ; 
He feels his need of an unerring guide, 
And knows that falling he shall rise no more, 
Unless the power that bade him stand restore* 
This is indeed philosophy ; this known 
Makes wisdom, worthy ot the name, his own} 
And without this, whatever he discuss ; 
Whether the space between the stars and lis ; 
Whether he measure earth, compute the ess, 
Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea ; 



76 COWPEP/s POEMS. 



The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 

Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still : 

Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes 

Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 

Self-knowledge truly learn'd of course implies 

The rich possession of a nobler prize ; 

For self to self, and Gfod to man, reveal'd 

(Two themes to nature's eye for ever seal'd), 

Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace 

From the same centre of enlightening grace. 

Here stay thy foot ; how copious, and how clear, 

The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here! 

Hark ! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, 

Some through the groves, some down the sloping hills, 

Winding a secret or an open course, 

And all supplied from an eternal source. 

The ties of nature do but feebly bind, 

And commerce partially reclaims mankind ; 

Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, 

May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride ; 

But, while his province is the reasoning part, 

Has still a veil of midnight on his heart : 

'Tis truth divine, exhibited on earth, 

Gives Charity her being and her birth. 

Suppose (when thought is warm, and fancy flows, 
"What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) 
An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind, 
Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. 
Let supposition lend her aid once more, 
x\nd land some grave optician on the shore : 
He claps his lens, if haply they may see, 
Close to the part where vision ought to be ; 
But finds that, though his tubes assist the sight, 
They cannot give it, or make darkness light. 
He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud 
A sense they know not to the wondering crowd ; 
He talks of light and the prismatic hues, 
As men of depth in erudition use ; 
But all he gains for his harangue is — Well, — 
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! 

The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews, 
Takes the resemblance of the good she views, 
As diamonds, stripp'd of their opaque disguise, 
Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. 
She speaks of Him, her author, guardian, friend, 
Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, 
In language warm as all that love inspires ; 
And, in the glow of her intense desires, 
Pants to communicate her noble fires. 
She sees a world stark blind to what employs 
Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys : 
Though wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, 
Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all : 
Herself as weak as her support is strong, 



n 



She feels that frailty she denied so long ; 
And, from a knowledge of her own disease, 
Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. 
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence, 
The reign of genuine Charity commence. 
Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, 
She still is kind, and still she perseveres ; 
The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 
'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream ! 
The danger they discern not they deny ; 
Laugh at their only remedy, and die. 
But still a soul thus touch 'd can never cease, 
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. 
Pure in her aim, aud in her temper mild, 
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child : 
She makes excuses where she might condemn, 
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them ; 
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, 
The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased. 
And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; 
She rather waives than will dispute her right ; 
And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. 

Such was the portrait an apostle drew, 
The bright original was one he knew ; 
Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. 

When one, that holds communion with the skies. 
Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, 
And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. 
So when a ship, well freighted with the stores 
The sun matures on India's spicy shores, 
Has dropp'd her anchor, and her canvas furl'd, 
In some safe haven of our western world, 
'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went, 
The gale informs us, laden with the scent. 

Some seek, when queasy conscience has its qualizis. 
To lull the painful malady with alms ; 
But charity not feign'd intends alone 
Another's good — theirs centres in their own ; 
And, too short-lived to reach the realms of peaee, 
Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. 
Flavia, most tender of her own good name, 
Is rather careless of her sister's fame : 
Her superfluity the poor supplies, ' 
But, if she touch a character, it dies. 
The seeming virtue weigh 'd against the vice, 
She deems all safe, for she has paid the price : 
No charity but alms aught values she, 
Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. 
How many deeds, with which the world has rung, 
From pride, in league with ignorance, have sprung ! 



78 COWPEH'S POEMS. 



But Gfod o'errules all human follies still. 
And bends the tough materials to his will. 
A conflagration, or a wintry flood, 
Has left some hundreds without home or food : 
Extravagance and avarice shall subscribe, 
While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. 
The brief proclaimed, it visits every pew, 
But first the squire's, a compliment but due : 
With slow deliberation he unties 
His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes ! 
And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, 
Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; 
Till finding, what he might have found before, 
A smaller piece amidst the precious store, 
Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb, 
He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. 
Grold, to be sure ! — Throughout the town 'tis toll 
How the good squire gives never less than gold. 
From motives such as his, though not the best, 
Springs in due time supply for the distress'd ; 
Not less effectual than what love bestows, 
Except that office clips it as it goes. 

But lest I seem to sin against a friend, 
And wound the grace I mean to recommend 
(Though vice derided with a j ust design 
Implies no trespass against love divine), 
Once more I would adopt the graver style, 
A teacher should be sparing of his smile. 
Unless a love of virtue light the flame, 
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame : 
He hides behind a magisterial air 
His own offences, and strips others bare ; 
Affects indeed a most humane concern, 
That men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn ; 
That mulish folly, not to be reclaim'd 
By softer methods, must be made ashamed 5 
But (I might instance in St Patrick's dean) 
Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 
Most satirists are indeed a public scourge ; 
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge ; 
Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, 
The milk of their good purpose all to curd. 
Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 
By lean despair upon an empty purse, 
The wild assassins start into the street, 
Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet, 
No skill in swordmanship, however just, 
Can be secure against a madman's thrust ; 
And even virtue, so unfairly match'd, 
Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'cL 
When scandal has new minted an old lie, 
Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 
'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears 
Gathering around it with erected ears ; 



79 



A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd ; 
Some whisper 'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, 
J ust as the sapience of an author's brain 
Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. 
Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash 
Quickens a market, and helps off the trash; 
The important letters that include the rest, 
Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd ; 
Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, 
The world is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law. 
So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail, 
Worms may be caught by either head or tail ; 
Forcibly drawn from many a close recess, 
They meet with little pity, no redress ; 
Plunged in the stream, they lodge upon the mud, 
Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood. 

All zeal for a reform, that gives offence 
To peace and charity, is mere pretence : 
A bold remark ; but which, if well applied, 
Would humble many a towering poet's pride. 
Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, 
And had no other play-place for his wit ; 
Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame, 
He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame; 
Perhaps — whatever end he might pursue, 
The cause of virtue could not be his view. 
At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes ; 
The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise, 
But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, 
That, while they rjlease, possess us with alarms; 
So have I seen (and hasten'd to the sight 
On all the wings of holiday delight), 
Where stands that monument of ancient power, 
Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower, 
Gruns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and sm&lL 
In starry forms disposed upon the wall : 
We wonder, as we gazing stand below, 
That brass and steel should make so fine a show ; 
But, though we praise the exact designer's skill, 
Account them implements of mischief still. 

No works shall find acceptance in that day, 
When all disguises shall be rent away, 
That square not truly with the Scripture plan, 
Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. 
As he ordains things sordid in their birth 
To be resolved into their parent earth ; 
And, though the soul shall seek superior orbs. 
What e'er this world produces, it absorbs ; 
So self starts nothing, but what tends apace 
Home to the goal, where it began the race. 
Such as our motive is our aim must be ; 
If this be servile, that can ne'er be free: 
If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought, 
We glorify that seif^ not Him we ought ; 



. 



COWPEIl S POEMS. 



Such virtues had need prove their own reward, 

The Judge of all men owes them no regard. 

True Charity, a plant divinely nursed, 

Fed by the love from which it rose at first, 

Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene, 

Storms but enliven its unfading green ; 

Exuberant is the shadow it supplies, 

Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies. 

To look at Him, who formed us and redeem'd, 

So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd ; 

To see a God stretch forth his human hand, 

To uphold the boundless scenes of his command : 

To recollect that, in a form like ours, 

He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers, 

Captivity led captive, rose to claim 

The wreath he won so dearly in our name ; 

That, throned above all height, he condescends 

To call the few that trust in him his friends; 

That, in the heaven of heavens, that space he deems 

Too scanty for the exertion of his beams, 

And shines, as if impatient to bestow 

Life and a kingdom upon worms below; 

That sight imparts a never-dying flame, 

Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. 

Like him the soul, thus kindled from above, 

Spreads wide her arms of universal love ; 

And, still enlarged as she receives the grace, 

Includes creation in her close embrace. 

Behold a Christian ! — and without the fires 

The Founder of that name alone inspires, 

Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet, 

To make the shining prodigy complete, 

Whoever boasts that name — behold a cheat ! 

Were love, in these the world's last doting years, 

As frequent as the want of it appears, 

The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold 

Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold ; 

Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease | 

And e'en the dipp'd and sprinkled live in peace : 

Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, 

And flow in free communion with the rest, 

The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deem 

Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep : 

His budget, often fill'd, yet always poor, 

Might swing at ease behind his study door, 

No longer prey upon our annual rents, 

Or scare the nation with its big contents : 

Disbanded legions freely might depart, 

And slaying man would cease to be an art. 

No learned disputants would take the field, 

Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield ; 

Both sides deceived, if rightly understood. 

Pelting each other for the public good. 

Did Charity prevail, the press would prove 



81 



A vehicle of virtue, truth, and loTe ; 

And I might spare myself the pains to shew 

"What few can learn, and all suppose they know. 

Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay 
"With many a wild, indeed, but flowery spray, 
In hopes to gain, what else I must have lost, 
The attention pleasure has so much engross'd. 
But if unhappily deceived I dream, 
And prove too weak for so divine a theme, 
Let Charity forgive me a mistake, 
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, 
And spare the poet for his subject's sake. 



^ 



CONVERSATION. 



Nam neque me tanturc venientis sibilus auetrt, 
Nee percussa juvant fiuctu tam litora, nee qu« 
Sasesas inter decurrant flumina valles. 



Though nature weigh our talents, and dispels 

To every man his modicum of sense, 

And Conversation in its better part 

May be esteemed a gift, and not an art. 

Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil, 

On culture,, and the sowing of the soil. 

Words learn'd by rote a parrot may reheaim 

But talking is not always to converse ; 

Not more distinct from harmony divine, 

The constant creaking of a country sign. 

As alphabets in ivory employ, 

Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy, 

Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee 

Those seeds of science call'd his A b c ; 

So language in the mouths of the adult, 

Witness its insignificant result, 

Too often proves an implement of play, 

A toy to sport with, and pass time away. 

Collect at evening what the day brought fortk$ 

Compress the sum into its solid worth, 

And if it weigh the importance of a fly, 

The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 

Sacred interpreter of human thought, 

How few respect or use thee as they ought 1 

But all shall give account of every wrong, 

Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue $ 

Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, 

Or sell their glory at a market-price 5 



CONVERSATION. 



Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon, 
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. 

There is a prurience in the speech of some, 
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb : 
His wise forbearance has their end in view, 
They fill their measure and receive their due. 
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days, 
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, 
Would drive them forth from the resort of men, 
And shut up every satyr in his den. 
Oh, come not ye near innocence and truth, 
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth ! 
Infectious as impure, your blighting power 
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower ; 
Its odour perish'd, and its charming hue, 
Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 
Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage 
Of adolescence, or a firmer age, 
Affords a plea allowable or just 
For making speech the pamperer of lust ; 
But when the breath of age commits the fault, 
'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 
So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene, 
No longer fruitful, and no longer green ; 
The sapless wood, divested of the bark, 
. Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. 

Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife-— 
Some men have surely then a peaceful life ! 
Whatever subject occupy discourse, 
The feats of Yestris, or the naval force, 
Asseveration blustering in your face 
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : 
In every tale they tell, or false or true, 
Well known, or such as no man ever knew, 
They fix attention, heedless of your pain, 
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ; 
And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout* 
They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. 
A Persian, humble servant of the sun, 
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, 
Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, 
With adjurations every word impress, 
Supposed the man a bishop, or at least, 
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 
Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, 
And begg'd an interest in his frequent prayers. 

Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'dj 
Henceforth associate in one common herd ; 
Keligion, virtue, reason, common sense, 
Pronounce your human form a false pretence : 
A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks, 
Who yet betrays his secret by his works. 

Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are, 
And make colloquial happiness your care, 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 

A duel in the form of a debate. 

The clash of arguments and jar of words, 

Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, 

Decide no question with their tedious length, 

For opposition gives opinion strength, 

Divert the champions prodigal of breath, 

And put the peaceably disposed to death. 

Oh, thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn, 

Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ; 

Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 

I am not surely always in the wrong ; 

'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 

A fool must now and then be right by chance. 

Not that all freedom of dissent I blame ; 

No — there I grant the privilege I claim. 

A disputable point is no man's ground ; 

Rove where you please, 'tis common all around. 

Discourse may want an animated — No, 

To brush the surface, and to make it flow ; 

But still remember, if you mean to please, 

To press your point with modesty and ease. 

The mark, at which my juster aim I take, 

Is contradiction for its own dear sake. 

Set your opinion at whatever pitch, 

Knots and impediments make something hitch ; 

Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, 

Your thread of argument is snapp'd again ; 

The wrangler, rather than accord with you, 

Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. 

Vociferated logic kills me quite, 

A noisy man is always in the right, 

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, 

Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, 

And, when I hope his blunders are all out, 

Rsply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt ! 

Dubius is such a scrupulous good man — 
Yes — you may catch him tripping, if you can. 
He would not, with a peremptory tone, 
Assert the nose upon his face his own ; 
With hesitation admirably slow, 
He humbly hopes — presumes — it may be so. 
His evidence, if he were call'd by law 
To swear to some enormity he saw, 
For want of prominence and just relief, 
Would hang an honest man and save a thief. 
Through constant dread. of giving truth offence, 
He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; 
Knows what he knows as if he knew it not ; 
What he remembers seems to have forgot ; 
His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, 
Centring at last in having none at all. 
Y T ei, though he tease anct balk your listening ear, 
He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; 



CONVERSATION. 85 



KoTre'er ingenious on his darling thorns 

A sceptic in philosophy may seem, 

Reduced to practice, his beloved rule 

Would only prove him a consummate fool : 

Useless in him alike both brain and speech, 

Fate having placed all truth above his reach, 

His ambiguities his total sum, 

He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. 

Where men of judgment creep and feel their ^ay, 
The positive pronounce without dismay ; 
Their want of light and intellect supplied 
By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. 
Without the means of knowing right from wrong, 
They always are decisive, clear, and strong. 
Where others toil with philosophic force, 
Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; 
Flings at your head conviction in the lump, 
And gains remote conclusions at a jump : 
Their own defect, invisible to them, 
Seen in another, they at once condemn ; 
And, though self-idolised in every case, 
Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. 
The cause is plain, and not to be denied, 
The proud are always most provoked by pride. 
Few competitions but engender spite ; 
And those the most, where neither has a right. 

The point of honour has been deem'd of use, 
To teach good manners and to curb abuse : 
Admit it true, the consequence is clear, 
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 
x\nd at the bottom barbarous still and rude ; 
We are restrain'd indeed, but not subdued. 
The very remedy, however sure, 
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 
And savage in its principle appears, 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears, 
'Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end ; 
That now and then a hero must decease, 
That the surviving world may live in peace. 
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may shew 
The practice dastardly, and mean, and low ; 
That men engage in it compell'd by force ; 
And fear, not courage, is its proper source. 
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear 
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should si 
At least to trample on our Maker's laws, 
And hazard life for any or no cause, 
To rush into a fix'd eternal state 
Out of the very flames of rage and hate, 
Or send another shivering to the bar 
With all the guilt of such unnatural war, 
Whatever use may urge, or honour plead, 
On reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 



85 C0WPER S POEMS. 



Am I to set my life upon a throw, 
Because a bear is rude and surly ] No — 
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not affront me, and no other can. 
Were I empower'd to regulate the lists, 
They should encounter with well loaded fiste; 
A Trojan combat would be something new, 
Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue ; 
Then each might shew, to his admiring friends, 
In honourable bumps his rich amends, 
And carry, in contusions of his skull, 
A satisfactory receipt in full. 

A story, in which native humour reigns, 
Is often useful, always entertains : 
A graver fact, enlisted on your side, 
May furnish illustration, well applied; 
But sedentary weavers of long tales 
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, 
To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 
And echo conversations dull and dry, 
Embellished with — He said, — and, So said I. 
At every interview their route the same, 
The repetition makes attention lame : 
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, 
And in the saddest part cry — Droll indeed ! 
The path of narrative with care pursue, 
Still making probability your cine ; 
On all the vestiges of truth attend, 
And let them guide you to a decent end. 
Of all ambitious man may entertain, 
The worst that can invade a sickly brain, 
Is that which angles hourly for surprise, 
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. 
Credulous infancy, or age as weak, 
Are fittest auditors for such to seek, 
Who to please others will themselves disgrace. 
Yet please not, but affront you to your face. 
A great retailer of this curious ware, 
Having unloaded and made many stare, 
Can this be true 1 — an arch observer cries ; 
Yes (rather moved), I saw it with these eyes ! 
Sir ! I believe it on that ground alone ; 
I could not had I seen it with my own. 

A tale should be judicious, clear, succint ; 
The language plain, the incidents well iink'd \ 
Tell not as new what everybody knows, 
And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; 
There, centring in a focus round and neat, 
Let all your rays ot information meet. 
What neither yields us profit nor delight 
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night ; 
Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore, 
Or giant-killing Jack, wculd please me more. 



CONVERSATION. SI 



The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, 
Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; 
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, 
Then pause, and puff — and speak, and pause again. 
Such often, like the tube they so admire, 
Important triflers I have more smoke than fire, 
Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys. 
Unfriendly to society's chief joys, 
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours 
The sex whose presence civilizes ours ; 
Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants 
To poison vermin that infest his plants ; 
But are we so to wit and beauty blind, 
As to despise the glory of our kind, 
And shew the softest minds and fairest forma 
As little mercy as he grubs and worms ? 
They dare not wait the riotous abuse 
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, 
When wine has given indecent language birth, 
And forced the floodgates of licentious mirth ; 
For seaborn Venus her attachment sLews 
Still to that element from which she rose, 
And, with a quiet which no fumes disturb, 
Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. 

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, 
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, 
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his. 
His whispered theme, dilated and at large, 
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, 
An extract of his diary— no more, 
A tasteless journal of the day before. 
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, 
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 
With one he stumbled on. and lost his walk. 
I interrupt him witn a sudden Dow, 
Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it novr. 

I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
A fine puss gentleman that's all per fame ; 
The sight's enough — no need to smell a beau — 
Who thrusts his head into a raree-show ] 
His odoriferous attempts to please 
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees ; 
But we that make no honey, though we sting, 
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort, 
What makes some sick, and others a-la-mori. 
An argument of cogence, we may say, 
Why such a one should keep himself away. 

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, 
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he ', 
A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 
An oracle within an empty cask, 



83 cowper's poems. 



The solemn fop ; significant and budge ; 

A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge. 

He says but little, and that little said, 

Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 

His wit invites you by his looks to come, 

But when you knock, it never is at home : 

'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, 

Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ; 

'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 

An absent friend's fidelity and love, 

But when unpacked, your disappointment groans 

To find it stuff 'd with brickbats, earth, and stones. 

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, 
In making known how oft they have been sick, 
And give us, in recitals of disease, 
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ; 
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, 
How an emetic or cathartic sped ; 
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot, 
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. 
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, 
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill ; 
And now — alas for unforeseen mishaps ! 
They put on a damp nightcap, and relapse ; 
They thought they must have died, they were so bad \ 
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. 

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, 
You always do too little or too much : 
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, 
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; 
You fall at once into a lower key, 
That's worse — the drone-pipe of an humble-bee. 
The southern sash admits too strong a light, 
You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tis night. 
He shakes with cold — you stir the fire and strive 
To make a blaze — that's roasting him alive. 
Serve him with venison, and he wishes fish ; 
With sole — that's just the sort he would not wish. 
He takes what he at first profess'd to loathe, 
And in due time feeds heartily on both ; 
Yet still, overclouded with a constant frown, 
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down, 
Your hope to please him vain on every plan, 
Himself should work that wonder if he can — 
Alas ! his efforts double his distress, 
He likes yours little, and his own still less. 
Thus always teasing others, always teased, 
His only pleasure is to be displeased. 

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, 
And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
Of needless shame and self-imposed disgrace 
Our sensibilities are so acute, 
The fear of being silent makes us mute. 



CONVERSATION. 



We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose 3 
But, being tried, it dies upou the lip, 
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, 
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd 5 
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 
By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, 
To fear each other, fearing none beside. 
The cause perhaps inquiry may descry, 
Self-searching with an introverted eye, 
Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, 
The vainest corner of our own vain heart : 
For ever aiming at the world's esteem, 
Our self-importance ruins its own scheme ; 
In other eyes our talents rarely shewn, 
Become at length so splendid in our own, 
We dare not risk them into public view, 
Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. 
True modesty is a discerning grace, 
And only blushes in the proper place ; 
But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear. 
Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed to appear : 
Humility the parent of the first, 
The last by vanity produced and nursed. 
The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, 
Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate ; 
Yes, ma'am, and No, ma'am, utter'd softly, shew 
Every five minutes how the minutes go ; 
Each individual, suffering a constraint 
Poetry may, but colours cannot, paint ; 
And, if in close committee on the sky, 
Exports it hot or cold, or wet or dry ; 
And finds a changing clime a happy source 
Of wise reflection and well-timed discourse. 
We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, 
Like conservators of the public health, 
Of epidemic throats, if such there are, 
And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarik 
That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 
Fill'd up at last with interesting news ; 
Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, 
And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed : 
But fear to call a more important cause, 
As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
The visit paid, with ecstacy we come, 
As from a seven years' transportation, homo, 
And there resume an unembarrass'd brow, 
Recovering what we lost, we know not hoir, 
The faculties that seem'd reduced to nought, 
Expression, and the privilege of thought. 
The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, 
I give him over as a desperate case. 



90 COWPER S POEMS. 



Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, 
Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ; 
And though the fox he follows may be tamed, 
A mere fox-follower never is reclaim'd. 
Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, 
Whose only fit companion is his horse ; 
Or if, deserving of a better doom, 
The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. 
Yet e'en the rogue that serves him, though he stam 
To take his honour's orders, cap in hand, 
Prefers his fellow grooms with much good sense, 
Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. 
If neither horse nor groom affect the 'squire, 
Where can at last his jockeyship retire] 
Oh, to the club, the scene -of savage joys, 
The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; 
There, in the sweet society of those 
Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, 
Let him improve his talent if he can, 
Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. 
Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd, 
Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field, 
Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand 
Given him a soul, and bade him understand ; 
The reasoning power vouchsafed, of course inferr'd 
The power to clothe that reason with his word ; 
For all is perfect that Grod works on earth, 
And he that gives conception aids the birth. 
If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood, 
What uses of his boon the Gfiver would. 
The mind despatch'd upon her busy toil, 
Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil ; 
Visiting every flower with labour meet, 
And gathering alTher treasures sweet by sweet, 
She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, 
And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, 
That good diffused may more abundant grow, 
And speech may praise the power that bids it flow. 
Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night, 
That fills the listening lover with delight, 
Forget his harmony, with rapture heard, 
To learn the twittering of a meaner bird ] 
Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice, 
That odious libel on a human voice "? 
No — nature, unsophisticate by man,- 
Starts not aside from her Creator's plan ; 
The melody, that was at first design'd 
To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind, 
Is note tor note deliver'd in our ears, 
Iu the last scene of her six thousand years. 
Yet Fashion, leader of a chattering train, 
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign, 
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, 
And would degrade her votary to an ape, 



CONVERSATION. 9] 



The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong, 

Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue ; 

There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, 

Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace, 

And, when accomplish'd in her wayward school, 

Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 

'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree, 

That none could frame or ratify but she, 

That heaven and hell, and righteousness and r : o, 

Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, 

God and his attributes ( a field of day 

Where 'ids an angel's happiness to stray), 

Fruits of his love and wonders of his might, 

Be never named in ears esteemed polite ; 

That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, 

Shall stand prosciibed, a madman or a knave, 

A close designer not to be believed, 

Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived. 

Oh, folly worthy of the nurse's lap, 

Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap ! 

Is it incredible, or can it seem 

A dream to any except those that dream, 

That man should love his Maker, and that fire, 

Wanning his heart, should at his lips transpire S 

Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, 

And veil your daring crest that braves the skies ; 

That air of insolence affronts your God, 

You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : 

Now, in a posture that becomes you more 

Than that heroic strut assumed before, 

Know, your arrears with every hour accrue 

For mercy shewn, while wrath is justly due. 

The time is short, and there are souls on earth, 

Though future pain may serve for present mirth, 

Acquainted with the woes that fear or shame, 

By fashion taught, forbade them once to name, 

And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest, 

Have proved them truths too big to be express'd. 

Go seek on revelation's hallow'd ground, 

Sure to succeed, the remedy they found ; 

Touch'd by that power that you have dared to mock ; 

That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock, 

Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, 

That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. 

It happen'd on a solemn eventide, 
Soon after He that was our surety died, 
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 
The scene of all those sorrows left behind, 
Sought their own village, busied as they went 
In musings worthy of the great event : 
They spake of Him they loved, of Him whose life, 
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, 
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 
A deep memorial graven on their hearts. 



02 oowper's poems. 



The recollection, like a vein of ore, 

The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more 5 

They thought him, and they justly thought him, ono 

Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done ; 

To exalt a people, and to place them high, 

Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. 

Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 

A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, 

And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air, 

What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 

Inform'd, he gather'dup the broken thread, 

And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 

Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well 

The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 

That, reach irjg home, the night, they said, is nearj, 

We must not now be parted, sojourn here — 

The new acquaintance soon became a guest, 

And, made so welcome at their simple feast, 

He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, 

And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord ! 

Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, 

Did they not burn within us by the way 1 

Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves 
Man to maintain, and such as God approves : 
Their views indeed were indistinct and dim, 
But yet successful, being aim'd at him. 
Christ and his character their only scope, 
Their object, and their subject, and their hope, 
They felt what it became them much to feel, 
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal, 
Found him as prompt as their desire was true, 
To spread the new-born glories in their view. 
Well — what are ages and the lapse of time 
Match'd against truths, as lasting as sublime ? 
Can length of years on G-od himself exact ? 
Or make that fiction which was once a fact ? 
No — marble and recording brass decay, 
And, like the graver's memory, pass away ; 
The works of man inherit, as is just, 
Their author's frailty, and return to dust : 
But truth divine for ever stands secure, 
Its head is guarded as its base is sure : 
Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years, 
The pillar of the eternal plan appears, 
The raving storm and dashing wave defies, 
Built by that Architect who built the skies. 
Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour 
That love of Christ, and all its quickening power \ 
And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, 
Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, 
Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 
A Jordan for the ablution of our woes. 
Oh, days of heaven, and nights of equal praise, 
Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days, 



CONVERSATION. S3 



"When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet 
Enjoy the stillness of some close retrt 
I) iscourse, as if released and safe at home, 
t dangers past, and wonders yet to come, 
And spread the sacred treasures of the breast 
Upon the lap of covenanted rest ! 

What, always dreaming over heavenly things, 
Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon-wings ) 
Canting and whining out all day the word, 
And half the night ] — fanatic and absurd ! 
Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers, 
Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs, 
"Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day, 
And chase the splenetic dull hours away; 
Content on earth in earthly things to shine, 
Who waits for heaven ere he becomes divine, 
Leaves saints to enjoy those altitudes they teach, 
And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach. 

Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame, 
Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. 
Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right ] 
The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light ] 
Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects of an hour, 
That come to waft us out of sorrow's p: 
Obscure or quench a faculty that finds 
Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ] 
Heligion curbs indeed its wanton play, 
And brings the trifler under rigorous sway, 
Lut gives it usefulness unknown before, 
And purifying, makes it shine the more, 
A Christian's wit is inoffensive light, 
A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight ; 
Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth ; 
'Tis always active on the side of truth ; 
Temperance and peace insure its healthful state. 
And make it brightest at its latest date. 
Ob, I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain, 
Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 
A veteran warrior in the Christian field, 
Who never saw the sword he could not wield; 
Grave without dulness, learned without pride, 
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed i P 
A man that would have foil'd at their own play 
A dozen would-be's of the modern day ; 
Who, when occasion justified its use, 
Had wit as bright as ready to produce, 
Could fetch from records of an earlier agc 3 
Or from philosophy's enlighten'd page, 
His rich materials, and regale your ear 
With strains it was a privilege to hear : 
Yet above all his luxury supreme, 
And his chief glory, was the gospel theme ; 
There he was copious as old Greece or B.orn% 
liis happy eloquence seem'd there at home, 



«4 OOWPBR S POEMS. 



Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 

But to treat justly what he loved so well. 

It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, 
When some green heads, as void of wit as thought, 
Suppose themselves monopolists of sense, 
And wiser men's ability pretence. 
Though time will wear us, and we must grow old, 
Such men are not forgot as soon as cold, 
Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, 
Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume. 
And to say truth, though in its early prime, 
And when unstained with any grosser crime, 
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, 
That in the valley of decline are lost, 
And virtue with peculiar charms appears, 
Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years ; 
Yet age, by long experience well informed, 
Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd, 
That fire abated which impels rash youth, 
Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth. 
As time improves the grape's authentic juice, 
Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, 
And claims a reverence in its shortening day, 
That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. 
The fruits of age, less fair, are yet more sound, 
Than those a brighter season pours around ; 
And, like the stores autumnal suns mature, 
Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure. 

What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much, 
And dreaded more than a contagious touch 1 
I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear, 
That fire is catching, if you draw too near ; 
But sage observers oft mistake the flame, 
And give true piety that odious name. 
To tremble (as the creature of an hour 
Ought at the view of an almighty power) 
Before His presence, at whose awful throne 
All tremble in all worlds, except our own, 
To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, 
And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise^ 
Though common sense, allow'd a casting voice, 
And free from bias, must approve the choice, 
Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme, 
And wild as madness in the world's, esteem. 
But that disease, when soberly defined, 
Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; 
It views the truth with a distorted eye, 
And either warps or lays it useless by ; 
'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws 
Its sordid nourishment from man's applause ; 
And, while at heart sin unrelinquished lies, 
Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies. 
'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 
In fly -blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, 



CONVERSATION. 



Shines in the dark, but, usher'd into day, 
The stench remains, the lustre dies away. 

True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed 
Of hearts in union mutually disclosed ; 
And, farewell else all hope of pure delight, 
Those hearts should be reclaini'd, renew'd, upright. 
Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name, 
Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame. 
A dark confederacy against the laws 
Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause. 
They build each other up with dreadful skill, 
As bastions set point-blank against God's will ; 
Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt, 
Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out ; 
Call legions up from hell to back the deed ; 
And, cursed with conquest, tin ally succeed. 
But souls, that carry on a blest exchange 
Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range, 
And with a fearless confidence make known 
The sorrows sympathy esteems its own, 
Daily derive increasing light and force 
From such communion in their pleasant course, 
Feel less the journey's roughness and its length, 
Meet their opposers with united strength, 
And, one in heart, in interest, and design, 
Gird up each other to the race divine. 

But Conversation, choose what theme we may, 
And chiefly when religion leads the way, 
Should flow, like waters after summer showers, 
Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. 
The Christian, in whose soul, though now distress'd, 
Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd, 
When all his glowing language issued forth 
With Grod's deep stamp upon its current worth, 
Will speak without disguise, and must impart, 
Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, 
Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, 
Or seem to boast a fire, he does not feel. 
The song of Sion is a tasteless thing, 
Unless, when rising on a joyful wing, 
The soul can mix with the celestial bands, 
And give the strain the compass it demands. 

Strange tidings these to tell a world, who treat 
All but their own experience as deceit ! 
Will they believe, though credulous enough 
To swallow much upon much weaker proof, 
That there are blest inhabitants of earth, 
Partakers of a new ethereal birth, 
Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged 
From things terrestrial, and divinely changed, 
Their very language of a kind that speaks 
The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks, 
Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt, 
As Tully with philosophy once dealt. 



Bv C0WPER S POEMS. 



And, in the silent watches of the night, 

And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, 

The social walk, or solitary ride, 

Keep still the dear companion at their side 1 

No — shame upon a self-disgracing age, 

God's work may serve an ape upon a s( 

"With such a jest as fill'd with hellish glee 

Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ; 

But veneration or respect finds none, 

Save from the subjects of that work alone. 

The World grown old, her deep discernment she^ 

Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose, 

Peruses closely the true Christian's face, 

And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace ; 

Usurps Gfod's office, lays his bosom bare, 

And finds hypocrisy close lurking there ; 

And, serving God herself through mere constraint, 

Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint. 

And yet, God knows, look human nature through 

( And in due time the world shall know k ; 

That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast, 

That after man's defection laid all waste, 

Sincerity towards the heart- searching Grod 

Has made the new-born creature her abode, 

Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls 

Till the last fire burn all between the poles. 

Sincerity ! why 'tis his only pride, 

Weak and imperfect in all grace beside, 

He ?nows that God demands his heart entire. 

And gives him all his just demands require. 

Without it, his pretensions were as vain 

As, having it, he deems the world's disdain ; 

That great defect would cost him not alone 

Man's favourable judgment, but his own ; 

His birthright shaken, and no longer clear 

Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. 

Retort the charge, and let the world be told 

She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; 

That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 

A cold misgiving and a killing dread : 

That while in health the ground of her support 

Is madly to forget that life is short ; 

That sick she trembles, knowing she must die, 

Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie ; 

That while she dotes and dreams that she believes. 

She mocks her Maker and herself deceives, 

Her utmost reach, historical assent,, 

The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant; 

That truth itself is in her head as dull 

And useless as a candle in a skull, 

And all her love of God a groundless claim, 

A trick upon the canvas, painted flame. 

Tell her again, the sneer upon her face, 

And all her censures of the work of grace 5 



CONVERSATION. 9Y 



Are insincere, meant only to conceal 
A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel ; 
That in her heart the Christian she reveres, 
And, while she seems to scorn him, only fears. 

A poet does not work by square or line, 
As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
At least we moderns, our attention less, 
Beyond the example of our sires digress, 
And claim a right to scamper and run wide, 
Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. 
The world and I fortuitously met ; 
I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt ; 
She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed, 
And, having struck the balance, now proceed. 
Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd 
Since she and I conversed together last, 
And I have lived recluse in rural shades, 
Which seldom a distinct report pervades, 
Great changes and new manners have occurr'd. 
And blest reforms that I have never heard, 
And she may now be as discreet and wise, 
As once absurd in all discerning eyes. 
Sobriety perhaps may now be found 
Where once intoxication press'd the ground ; 
The subtle and injurious may be just, 
And he grown chaste that was the slave of lust ; 
Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismissed 
Charity may relax the miser's fist; 
The gamester may have cast his cards away, 
Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray. 
It has indeed been told me (with what weight, 
How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state), 
That fables old, that seem'd for ever mute, 
Revived, are hastening into fresh repute, 
And gods and goddesses, discarded long, 
Like useless lumber or a stroller's song, 
Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, 
And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; 
That certain feasts are instituted now, 
Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow ; 
That all Olympus through the country roves. 
To consecrate our few remaining groves, 
And Echo learns politely to repeat 
The praise of names for ages obsolete ; 
That, having proved the weakness, it should seem. 
Of revelation's ineffectual beam, 
To bring the passions under sober sway, 
And give the moral springs their proper play, 
They mean to try what may at last be done, 
By stout substantial gods of wood and stone, 
And whether Roman rites may not produce 
The virtues of old Rome for English use. 
May such success attend the pious plan, 
May Mercury once more embellish man. 



cowper's poems. 



Grace him again with long-forgotten arts, 

Beclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, 

Make him athletic as in days of old, 

Learn'd at the bar, in the palaestra bold, 

Divest the rougher sex of female airs, 

And teach the softer not to copy theirs : 

The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught. 

Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 

'Tis time, however, if the case stands thus, 

For us plain folks, and all who side with us, 

To build our altar, confident and bold, 

And say, as stern Elijah said of old, 

The strife now stands upon a fair award, 

If Israel's Lord be Gfod, then serve the Lord 5 

If he be silent, faith is all a whim, 

Then Baal is the Grod, and worship him. 

Digression is so much in modern use, 
Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse* 
Some never seem so wide of their intent, 
As when returning to the theme they meant j 
As mendicants, whose business is to roam, 
Make every parish but their own their home. 
Though such continual zig-zags in a book, 
Such drunken reelings have an awkward look. 
And I had rather creep to what is true, 
Than rove and stagger with no mark in view • 
Yet to consult a little, seem'd no crime, 
The freakish humour of the present time : 
But now to gather up what seems dispersed, 
And touch the subject I design'd at first, 
May prove, though much beside the rules of art, 
Best for the public, and my wisest part. 
And first, let no man charge me, that I mean 
To clothe in sable every social scene, 
And give good company a face severe, 
As if they met around a father's bier ; 
For tell some men that, pleasure all their bent, 
And laughter all their work, is life misspent, 
Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply, 
Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
To find the medium asks some share of wit, 
And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 
But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, 
Whose glory, with a light that never fades, 
Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades, 
And, while it shews the land the soul desires, 
The language of the land she seeks inspires. 
Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure 
Of all that was absurd, profane, impure; 
Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech 
Pursues the course that truth and nature teach ; 
No longer labours merely to produce 
The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use : 



0ONYERSATICE. 90 



Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, 

Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme, 

While aU the happy man possess'd before, 

The gift of nature, or the classic store, 

Is made subservient to the grand design, 

For which Heaven form'd the faculty aivine. 

So, should an idiot, while at large he strays, 

Find the sweet lyre on which an artist plays, 

With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes, 

And grins with wonder at the jar he makes; 

But let the wise and well-instructed hand 

Once take the shell beneath his just command, 

In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd 

Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, 

Till, tuned at length to some immortal song, 

It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along 



SET1EEMEKT. 



» ctudils florens ignoMlis ott 

Vwo. Georg. IiU iv. 



Hacknei 'd in business, wearied at that oar, 

Which th )usands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more- 

But whict, when life at ebb runs weak and low, 

All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; 

The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,, 

Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, 

Where, all his long anxieties forgot 

Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot, 

Or recollected only to gild o'er 

And add a smile to what was sweet before, 

He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, 

Lay his old age upon the lap of ease, 

Improve the remnant of his wasted span, 

And, having lived a trifler, die a man. 

Thus conscience pleads her cause within the breast; 

Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, 

And calls a creature form'd for God alone, 

For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own, 

Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, 

From what debilitates and what inflames, 

From cities humming with a restless crowds 

Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, 

Whose highest piaise is that they live in vain, 

The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, 

Where works of man are cluster'd close around, 

And works of God are hardly to be found, 

To regions where, in spite of sin and woe> 

Traces of Eden are still seen below. 



RETIREMENT. 10] 



Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, 

Bemind him of his Maker's power and love. 

'Tis well, if look'd for at so late a day, 

In the last scene of such a senseless play, 

True wisdom will attend his feeble call, 

And grace his action ere the curtain fall. 

Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth, 

Their wishes all impregnated with earth, 

For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care, 

In catching smoke, and feeding upon air, 

Conversant only with the ways of men, 

Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 

Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart, 

Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part, 

And, draining its nutritious power to feed 

Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. 

Happy, if full of days — but happier far, 
If, ere we yet discern life's evening star, 
Sick of the service of a world that feeds 
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, 
We can escape from custom's idiot sway. 
To serve the sovereign we were born to obey. 
Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd 
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! 
To trace in nature's most minute design 
The signature and stamp of power divine, 
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease, 
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees, 
The shapely limb and lubricated joint, 
Within the small dimensions of a point, 
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, 
His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, 
The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, 
To whom an atom is an ample field : 
To wonder at a thousand insect forms, 
These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms. 
New life ordain'd, and brighter scenes to share, 
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, 
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size ; 
More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; 
With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorn'd, 
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, 
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, 
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth : 
Then with a glance of fancy to survey, 
Far as the faculty can stretch away, 
Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command, 
From urns that never fail, through every land ; 
These like a deluge with impetuous force, 
Those winding modestly a silent course ; 
The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; 
Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails ; 
The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, 
The crescent moon, the diadem of night : 



102 cowper's poems. 



Stars countless, each in his appointed place, 
Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space — 
At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, 
And with a rapture like his own exclaim 
These are thy glorious works, thou Source of Good, 
How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 
This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; 
Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought, 
Adored and praised in all that thou has wrought. 
Absorb'd in that immensity I see, 
I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; 
Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day 
Thy words more clearly than thy works display, 
That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, 
I may resemble thee, and call thee mine. 

blest proficiency ! surpassing all 
That men erroneously their glory call, 
The recompence that arts or arms can yield, 
The bar, the senate, or the tented field. 
Compared with this sublimest life below, 
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to shew ? 
Thus studied, used, and consecrated thus, 
On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us ; 
Not as the plaything of a froward child, 
Fretful unless diverted and beguiled, 
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires 
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires ; 
But as a scale, by which the soul ascends 
From mighty means to more important ends, 
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, 
Mounts from inferior beings up to (rod, 
And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, 
Earth made for man, and man himself for him. 

Not that I mean to approve, or would enforce 
A superstitious and monastic course : 
Truth is not local, Gfod alike pervades 
And fills the world of traffic and the shades, 
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes. 
Or scorn'd where business never intervenes. 
But, 'tis not easy, with a mind like ours, 
Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers. 
And in a world where, other ills apart, 
The roving eye misleads the careless heart, 
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray 
Wherever freakish fancy points the way ; 
To bid the pleadings of self-love be stilly 
Eesign our own and seek our Maker's will ; 
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare 
Our conduct with the laws engraven there ; 
To measure all that passes in the breast, 
Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test ; 
To dive into the secret deeps within, 
To spare no passion and no favourite sin, 



RETIREMENT. Ko 



And search the themes, important above all, 

Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. 

But leisure, silence, and a mind released 

From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased^ 

How to secure, in some propitious hour 

The point of interest or the post of power, 

A soul serene, and equally retired 

From objects too much dreaded or desired. 

Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, 

At least are friendly to the great pursuit. 

Opening the map of Grod's extensive plan, 
We find a little isle, this life of man ; 
Eternity's unknown expanse appears 
Circling around and limiting his years. 
The busy race examine and explore 
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, 
"With care collect what in their eyes excels, 
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells j 
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, 
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight. 
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, 
And every hour sweeps multitudes away ; 
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, 
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. 
A few forsake the throng ; with lifted eyes 
Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real prize, 
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, 
Seal'd with his signet whom they serve and love) 
Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 
A kind release from their imperfect state, 
And unregretted are soon snatch'd away 
From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. 

Nor these alone prefer a life recluse, 
Who seek retirement for its proper use ; 
The love of change, that lives in every breast 
Genius, and temper, and desire of rest, 
Discordant motives in one centre meet, 
And each inclines its votary to retreat. 
Some minds by nature are averse to noise, 
And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, 
The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize 
That courts display before ambitious eyes ; 
The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem, 
Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. 
To them the deep recess of dusky groves, 
Or forest, where the deer securely roves, 
The fall of waters, and the song of birds, 
And hills that echo to the distant herds, 
Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
The world can boast, and her chief favourites share. 
With eager step, and carelessly array'd, 
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade, 
From all he sees he catches new delight, 
Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight, 



104 COWPER's POEMS. 



The rising or the setting orb of day, 

The clouds that flit, or slowly float away, 

Nature in all the various shapes she wears, 

Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs, 

The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, 

Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, 

All, all alike transport the glowing bard, 

Success in rhyme his glory and reward. 

Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 

His bright perfections at whose word they rose. 

Next to that power who form'd thee, and sustains, 

Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. 

Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand 

Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, 

That I may catch a fire but rarely known, 

Give useful light, though I should miss renown, 

And, poring on thy page, whose every line 

Bears proof of an intelligence divine, 

May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays, 

That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. 

Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use, 

Glittering in vain, or only to seduce, 

Who studies nature with a wanton eye, 

Admires the work, but slips the lesson by ; 

His hours of leisure and recess employs 

In drawing pictures of forbidden joys, 

Retires to blazon his own worthless name, 

Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. 

The lover too shuns business and alarms, 
Tender idolater of absent charms. 
Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers 
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ; 
'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, 
And every thought that wanders is a crime. 
In sighs he worships his supremely fair, 
And weeps a sad libation in despair ; 
Adores a creature, and, devout in vain, 
Wins in return an answer of disdain. 
As woodbine weds the plant within her reach, 
Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech 
In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 
Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, 
But does a mischief while she lends a grace, 
Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace ; 
So love, that clings around the noblest minds, 
Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds; 
The suitor's air, indeed, he soon improves, 
And forms it to the taste of her he loves, 
Teaches his eyes a language, and no less 
Refines his speech, and fashions his address , 
But farewell promises of happier fruits, 
Manly designs, and learning s grave pursu: 
Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, 
His only bliss is sorrow for her sake ; 



RETIREMENT 



Who will may pant for glory and excel, 
Her smile Lis aim, all higher aims farewell ! 
Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name 
May least offend against so pure a flame. 
Though sage advice of friends the most sincere 
Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear, 
And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, 
Can least brook management, however mild, 
Yet let a poet (poetry~disarms 
The fiercest animals with magic charms) 
Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, 
And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 
Pastoral images and still retreats, 
Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, 
Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, 
Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams, 
Are all enchantments in a case like thine, 
Conspire against thy peace with one design, 
Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey, 
And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away. 
Up — God has form'd thee with a wiser view, 
Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ; 
Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first 
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. 
Woman, indeed, a gift he would bestow 
When he design'd a Paradise below, 
The richest earthly boon his hands afford, 
Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. 
Post away swiftly to more active scenes, 
Collect the scatter'd truth that study gleans, 
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part, 
No longer give an image all thine heart ; 
Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, 
'Tis Grod's just claim, prerogative divine. 

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill 
Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil, 
Gives melancholy up to nature's care, 
And sends the patient into purer air. 
Look where he comes — in this embower'd ale: ; 
Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : 
Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, 
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, 
Interpret to the marking eye distress, 
Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
That tongue is silent now ; that silent tongue 
Could argue once, could jest, or join the song, 
Could give advice, could censure or commend, 
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
Renounced alike its office and its sport, 
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short ; 
Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 
And like a summer-brook are past away. 
This is a sight for pity to peruse, 
Till she resembles faintly what she views, 



106 cowper's poems. 



Till sympathy contract a kindred pain, 

Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain. 

This, of all maladies that man infest, 

Claims most compassion, and receives the least ; 

Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod 

And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God : 

And such emollients as his friends could spare, 

Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. 

Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never feel, 

Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, 

With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, 

And minds that deem derided pain a treat, 

With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, 

And wit that puppet prompters might inspire, 

Their sovereign nostrum is' a clumsy joke 

On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. 

But, with a soul that ever felt the sting 

Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing : 

Not to molest, or irritate, or raise 

A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; 

He that has not usurp'd the name of man 

Does all, and deems too little all, he can, 

To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part, 

And staunch the bleedings of a broken heart. 

'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, 

Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ; 

Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, 

Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; 

The screws reversed (a task which, if he please, 

God in a moment executes with ease), 

Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, 

Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. 

Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair 

As ever recompensed the peasant's care, 

Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, 

Nor view of waters turning busy mills, 

Parks in which art preceptress nature weds, 

Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, 

Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves, 

And waft it to the mourner as he roves, 

Can call up life into his faded eye, 

That passes all he sees unheeded by; 

No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, 

No cure for such, till God who makes them heals, 

And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill 

That yields not to the touch of human skill, 

Improve the kind occasion, understand 

A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand. 

To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon ? 

The purple evening and resplendent moon, 

The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, 

Seem drops descending in a shower of light, 

Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, 

Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine: 



RETIREMENT. tOT 



Yet seek him, in his favour life is found, 
All bliss beside — a shadow or a sound : 
Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earthy 
Shall seem to start into a second birth ; 
Nature, assuming a more lovely face, 
Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, 
Shall be despised and overlook'd no more, 
Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 
Impart to things inanimate a voice, 
And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; 
The sound shall run along the winding vales, 
And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. 

Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims, 
Sick of a thousand disappointed aims), 
My patrimonial treasure and my pride, 
Beneath your shades your grey possessor hide, 
Receive me, languishing for that repose 
The servant of the public never knows. 
Ye saw me once (ah, those regretted days, 
When boyish innocence was all my praise !) 
Hour after hour delightfully allot 
To studies then familiar, since forgot, 
And cultivate a taste for ancient song, 
Catching its ardour as I mused along ; 
Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send, 
What once I valued and could boast, a friend, 
Were witnesses how cordially I press'd 
His undissembling virtue to my breast ; 
Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, 
Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, 
But versed in arts that, while they seem to stay 
A falling empire, hasten its decay. 
To the fair haven of my native home, 
The wreck of what I was, fatigued, I come ; 
For once I can approve tne patriot's voice, 
And make the course he recommends my choice ; 
We meet at last in one sincere desire, 
His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 
'Tis done —he steps into the welcome chaise, 
Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, 
That whirl away from business and debate 
The disencumber 'd Atlas of the state. 
Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn 
First shakes the glittering drops from every thorfc ; 
Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush 
Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush, 
How fair is Freedom ] — he was always free : 
To carve his rustic name upon a tree, 
To snare the mole, or with iil-fashion'd hook 
To draw the incautious minnow from the brook. 
Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, 
His flock the chief concern he ever knew ; 
She shines but little in his heedless eyes, 
The good we never miss we rarely prize : 



108 COWPER S POEMS. 



But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, 

Escaped from office and its constant cares, 

What charms he sees in Freedom's smile express'd, 

In freedom lost so long, now repossess'd; 

The tongue whose strains were cogent as commands, 

Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, 

Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause, 

Or plead its silence as its best applause. 

He knows indeed that, whether dress'd or rude, 

Wild without art, or artfully subdued, 

Nature in every form inspires delight, 

But never mark'd her with so just a sight. 

Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, 

With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er, 

Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream that spreads 

Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads, 

Downs, that almost escape the inquiring eye, 

That melt and fade into the distant sky, 

Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd, 

Seem all created since he traveil'd last. 

Master of all the enjoyments he design'd, 

No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, 

What early philosophic hours he keeps, 

How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! 

Not sounder he that on the mainmast head, 

While morning kindles with a windy red, 

Begins a long look-out for distant land, 

Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand, 

Then, swift descending with a seaman's haste, 

Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. 

He chooses company, but not the squire's, 

Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires , 

Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, 

Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; 

Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer, 

Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; 

But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, 

With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend. 

A man, whom marks of condescending grace 

Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place ; 

Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws, 

Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause | 

Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence 

To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence ; 

On whom he rests well pleased his weary powers, 

And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. 

The tide of life, swift always in its course. 

May run in cities with a brisker force, 

But nowhere with a current so serene, 

Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. 

Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss, 

What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss I 

Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, 

But short the date of all we gather here ; 



RETIREMENT. 109 



No happiness is felt, except the true, 

That does not charm thee more for being new. 

This observation, as it chanced, not made, 

Or, if the thought occurr'd, not duly weigh'd, 

He sighs — for after all by slow degrees 

The spot he loved has lost the power to please 5 

To cross his ambling pony day by day 

Seems at the best but dreaming life away ; 

The prospect, such as might enchant despair, 

He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; 

"With aching heart, and discontented looks, 

Returns at noon to billiards or to books, 

But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, 

A secret thirst of his renounced employs. 

He chides the tardiness of every post, 

Pants to be told of battles won or lost, 

Blames his own indolence, observes, though iatfi, 

'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state, 

Flies to the levee, and, received with grace, 

Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 

Suburban villas, highway-side retreats, 
That dread the encroachment of our growing streets, 
Tight boxes neatly sash'd, and in a blaze 
With all a July sun's collected rays, 
Delight the citizen, who, gasping there, 
Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. 
sweet retirement ! who would balk the thought 
That could afford retirement or could not ? 
'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, 
The second milestone fronts the gaiden gate; 
A step if fair, and, if a shower approach, 
They find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. 
There, prison'd in a parlour snug and small, 
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall, 
The man of business and his friends compress'd. 
Forget their labours, and yet find no rest ; 
But still 'tis rural — trees are to be seen 
From every window, and the fields are green ; 
Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, 
And what could a remoter scene shew more ? 
A sense of elegance we rarely find 
The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, 
And ignorance of better things makes man, 
Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can ; 
And he, that deems his leisure well bestowed, 
In contemplation of a turnpike-road, 
Is occupied as well, employs his hours 
As wisely, and as much improves his powers. 
As he that slumbers in pavilions graced 
With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste. 
Yet hence, alas ! insolvencies ; and hence 
The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense, 
From all his wearisome engagements freed, 
Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. 



110 cowper's poems. 



Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles, 
Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge Wells, 
When health required it, would consent to roam, 
Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home ; 
But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, 
Ingenious to diversify dull life, 
In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, 
Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys, 
And all, impatient of dry land, agree 
With one consent to rush into the sea. 
Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad, 
Much of the power and majesty of God. 
He swathes about the swelling of the deep, 
That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep ; 
Vast as it is, it answers as' it flows 
The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; 
Curling and whitening over all the waste, 
The rising waves obey the increasing blast, 
Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, 
Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores, 
Till he that rides the whirlwind checks the rein, 
Then all the world of waters sleeps again. 
Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, 
Now in the floods, now panting in the meads, 
Votaries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells, 
Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 
Oh, grant a poet leave to recommend 
(A poet fond of nature, and your friend) 
Her slighted works to your admiring view ; 
Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. 
Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride. 
With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side, 
Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, 
To waste unheard the music of his strains, 
And, deaf to all the impertinence of tongue, 
That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong, 
Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault, 
The seas globose and huge, the o'er-arching vault, 
Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd 
In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd, 
Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 
Of God, beneficent in all his ways ; 
Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty shine! 
Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. 

Anticipated rents and bills unpaid, 
Force many a shining youth into the shade, 
Not to redeem his time, but his estate, 
And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. 
There, hid in loathed obscurity, removed 
From pleasures left, but never more beloved, 
He just endures, and with a sickly spleen 
Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. 
Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme ; 
Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : 



RETIREMENT. HI 



The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, 
Are musical enough in Thomson's song ; 
And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green retreats, 
"When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets ; 
He likes the country, but in truth must own, 
Most likes it when he studies it in town. 

Poor Jack — no matter who — for when I blame, 
I pity, and must therefore sink the name, 
Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, 
And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. 
The estate, his sires had own'd in ancient years, 
Was quickly distanced, match'd against a peer's. 
Jack vanish'd, was regretted, and forgot ; 
'Tis wild good-nature's never failing lot. 
At length, when all had long supposed him dead, 
By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead, 
My lord, alighting at his usual place, 
The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. 
Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise 
He might escape the most observing eyes, 
And whistling, as if unconcern'd and gay, 
Curried his nag and look'd another way ; 
Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, 
'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, 
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and joy, 
He press' d him much to quit his base employ ; 
His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand, 
Influence and power, were all at his command : 
Peers are not always generous as well-bred, 
But Grranby was, meant truly what he said. 
Jack bow'd, and was obliged — confess'd 'twas strange, 
That so retired he should not wish a change, 
But knew no medium between guzzling beer, 
ADd his old stint — three thousand pounds a year. 

Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe ; 
Some seeking happiness not found below; 
Some to comply with humour, and a mind 
To social scenes by nature disinclined ; 
Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust j 
Some self-impoverish'd, and because they must ; 
But few, that court Retirement, are aware 
Of half the toils they must encounter there. 

Lucrative offices are seldom lost 
For want of powers proportion'd to the post i 
Give e'en a dunce the employment he desires, 
And he soon finds the talents it requires 5 
A business with an income at its heels 
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. 
But in his arduous enterprise to close 
His active years with indolent repose, 
He finds the labours of that state exceed 
His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 
'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, 
But not to manage leisure with a grace ; 



i32 cowper's poems. 



Absence of occupation is not rest, 

A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed, 

The veteran steed, excused his task at length, 

In kind compassion of his failing strength, 

And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, 

Exempt from future service all his days, 

There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind, 

Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind : 

But when his lord would quit the busy road, 

To taste a joy like that he has bestow'd, 

He proves, less happy than his favour'd brute, 

A life of ease a difficult pursuit. 

Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 

As natural as when asleep to dream ; 

But reveries (for human minds will act), 

Specious in show, impossible in fact, 

Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought, 

Attain not to the dignity of thought : 

Nor yet the swarms that occupy the brain, 

Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign , 

Nor such as useless conversation breeds, 

Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 

Whence, and what are we ] to what end ordain'd ? 

What means the drama by the world sustain'd? 

Business or vain amusement, care or mirth,, 

Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. 

Is duty a mere sport, or an employ 1 

Life an entrusted talent, or a toy 1 

Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture say, 

Cause to provide for a great future day, 

When, earth's assign'd duration at an end, 

Man shall be summon'd, and the dead attend I 

The trumpet — will it sound? the curtain rise] 

And shew the august tribunal of the skies, 

Where no prevarication shall avail, 

Where eloquence and artifice shall fail, 

The pride of arrogant distinctions fall, 

And conscience and our conduct judge us all 1 

Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil 

To learned cares or philosophic toil ; 

Though I revere your honourable names, 

Your useful labours, and important aims, 

And hold the world indebted to your aid, 

Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made ; 

Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem 

A mind employ'd on so subline a theme, 

Pushing her bold inquiry to the date 

And outline of the present transient state, 

And, after poising her adventurous wings, 

Settling at last upon eternal things, 

Far more intelligent, and better taught 

The strenuous use of profitable thought, 

Than ye, when happiest, and enlighten'd most, 

And lughest in renown, can justly boast. 



RETIREMENT. 113 



A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear 
The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, 
Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires, 
Must change her nature, or in vain retires. 
An idler is a watch that wants both hands ; 
As useless if it goes as when it stands. 
Boots, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves, 
In which lewd sensualists print out themselves ; 
Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blow, 
"With what success let modern manners shew ; 
Nor his who, for the bane of thousands born, 
Built God a church, and laugh'd his Word to scorn, 
Skilful alike to seem devout and just, 
And stab religion with a sly side-thrust ; 
Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase 
A panting syllable through time and space, 
Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, 
To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; 
But such as learning, without false pretence, 
The Mend of truth, the associate of sound sense, 
And such as, in the zeal of good design, 
Strong judgment labouring in the Scripture mine, 
All such as manlv and great souls produce, 
Worthy to live, and of eternal use : 
Behold in these what leisure hou v s demand, 
Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. 
Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, 
And, while she polishes, perverts the taste ; 
Habits of ^Ios8 attention, thinking heads, 
Become more rare as dissipation spreads, 
Till authors hear at length one general cry, 
Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 
The loud demand, from year to year the same 
Beggars invention, and makes fancy lame ; 
Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune, 
Calls for the kind assistance of a tune ; 
And novels (witness every month's review) 
Belie their name, and offer nothing new. 
The mind, relaxing into needful sport, 
Should turn to writers of an abler sort, 
Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style- 
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. 
Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done, 
Too rigid in my view, that name to one ; 
Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast 
Will stand advanced a step above the rest ; 
Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, 
But one, the rose, the regent of them all) — 
Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, 
But chosen with a nice discerning taste, 
Well born, well disciplined, who, placed apart 
From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart, 
And, though the world may think the ingredients oddt 
The love of virtue, and the fear of God ! 



JH cowper's poems. 



Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, 

A temper rustic as the life we lead, 

And keep the polish of the manners clean, 

As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; 

For solitude, however some may rave. 

Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 

A sepulchre, in which the living lie, 

Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 

I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd, 

How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude ! 

But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 

Whom I may whisper — Solitude is sweet. 

Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, 

That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, 

Can save us always from a tedious day, 

Or shine the dulness of still Hfe away ; 

Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd, 

Or sought with energy, must fill the void. 

Oh, sacred art ! to which alone life owes 

Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, 

Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn 

For evils daily felt and hardly borne, 

Not knowing thee, we reap, with bleeding hands, 

Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands, 

And, while experience cautions us in vain, 

Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. 

Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, 

Lost by abandoning her own relief, 

Murmuring and ungrateful discontent, 

That scorns afflictions mercifully meant, 

Those humours, tart as wines upon the fret, 

Which idleness and weariness beget ; 

These, and a thousand plagues that haunt the breast, 

Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest, 

Divine communion chases, as the day 

Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey, 

See Judah's promised king, bereft of all, 

Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, 

To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, 

To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. 

Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice. 

Hear him, o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice ; 

No womanish or wailing grief has part, 

No, not a moment, in his royal heart ; 

'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, 

Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's saLo. 

His soul exults, hope animates his lays, 

The sense of mercy kindles into praise, 

And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar, 

Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before; 

'Tis love like his that can alone defeat 

The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. 

• Bruydre. 



RETIREMENT. US 



Religion does not censure or exclude 
TJnn-iimber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued ; 
To study culture, and with artful toil 
To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil ; 
To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands 
The grain, or herb, or plant that each demands ; 
To cherish virtue in an humble state, 
And share the joys your bounty may create ; 
To mark the matchless workings of the power 
That shuts within its seed the future flower, 
Bids these in elegance of form excel, 
In colour these, and those delight the smell, 
Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies, 
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes ; 
To teach the canvas innocent deceit. 
Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet — 
These, these are arts pursued without a crime 
That leave no stain upon the wing of time. 

Me poetry (or, rather, notes that aim 
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame) 
Employs, shut out from more important viewg 
Fast by the banks of the slow- winding Ouse ; 
Content if, thus sequester 'd, I may raise. 
A monitor's, though not a poet's, praise, 
And, while I teach an art too little known, 
Tc close life wisely, may not waste my own, 



THE TASK. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The history of the following production is briefly this: 
A lady (Lady Austen), fond of blank verse, demanded a 
poem of that kind from the author, and gave him the Sofa 
for a subject. He obeyed; and having much leisure, con- 
nected another subject with it ; and, pursuing the train of 
thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, 
brought forth at length, instead of the trifle which he at 
first intended, a serious affair — a volume. 

In the poem on the subject of Education he would be 
very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure 
at any particular school. His objections are such as natu- 
rally apply themselves to schools in general. If there wero 
not, as for the most part there is, wilful neglect in those 
who manage them, and an omission even of such discipline 
as they are susceptible of, the objects are yet too numerous 
for minute attention ; and the aching hearts of ten thousand 
parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disappoint- 
ments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel there- 
fore is with the mischief at large, and not with any particu- 
lar instance of it 



THE TASK. 



BOOK X.-IHE SOFA. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Historical deduction of »oate, from the stool to tlie sofa— A echoolb07»g ramble— A 
walk in the country — The scene described — Rural sounds as well as sights delightful— 
Another walk — Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected— Colonnades 
commended— Alcove, and the view from it — The wilderness — The grove — The thresher 
— The necessity and the benefits of exercise — The works of nature superior to, and in 
come instances inimitable by, art — The wearisomeness of what is commonly called a 
life of pleasure — Change of scene sometimes expedient — A common described, and the 
character of Crazy Kate introduced— Gipsies— The blessings of civilised life— That 
state most favourable to virtue — The South Sea islanders compassionated, but chiefly 
Omai — His present state of mind supposed — Civilised life friendly to virtue, but not 
great cities — Great cities, and London in particular, allowed their due praise, but 
eensured— ESte champStre— The book concludes with a reflection on the effects ol 
dissipation and effeminacy upon our public measures. 

I sing the Sofa. I who lately sang 

Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and touch'd with awe 

The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, 

Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight, 

Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; 

The theme though humble, yet august and proud 

The occasion — for the Fair commands the song., 

Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use. 
Save their own painted skins, our sires had nono. 
As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth, 
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock, 
Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 
Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. 
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
The birthday of Invention ; weak at first, 
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 
A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 
On such a stool immortal Alfred sa,t, 
And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms : 
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
May still be seen ; but perforated sore, 
And drili'd in holes, the solid oak is founds 

* See Poeras: 



1!8 THE TASK. 



By worms voracious eating through and through. 

At length a generation more refined 
Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, 
Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 
And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuff'd, 
Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, 
Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought 
And woven close, or needlework sublime. 
There might ye see the peony spread wide, 
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes, 
And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. 

Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright 
With Nature's varnish, sever'd into stripes 
That interlaced each other, -these supplied 
Of texture firm a lattice work, that braced 
The new machine, and it became a chair. 
But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; 
The slippery seat betray'd the sliding part 
That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down, 
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
These for the rich ; the rest, whom Fate had placed 
In modest mediocrity, content 
With base materials, sat on well tann'd hides, 
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, 
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, 
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd, 
If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 
Than the firm oak of which the frame was formVL 
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived; 
And some inscribe the invention to a priest, 
Burly and big, and studious of his ease. 
But, rude at first, and not with easy slope, 
Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs, 
And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, 
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 
Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires 
Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in, 
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
'Gran murmur, as became the softer sex. 
Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
Than when employ'd to accommodate the fair ; 
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 
The soft settee; one elbow at each end, 
And in the midst an elbow it received, 
United yet divided, twain at once. 
So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 
And so two citizens, who take the air, 
Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. 



THE SOFA. 119 



But relaxation of the languid frame, 
By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs, 
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
To attain perfection in this nether world. 
Thus first Necessity invented stools, 
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, 
And Luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last. 

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, 
Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he 
Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour, 
To sleep within the carriage more secure, 
His legs depending at the open door. 
Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, 
The tedious rector drawling o'er his head ; 
And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep 
Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, 
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour, 
To slumber in the carriage more secure, 
Nor sleep enjoy 'd by curate in his desk, 
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, 
Compared with the repose the Sofa yields. 

Oh, may I live exempted (while I live 
Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) 
From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe 
Of libertine Excess ! The Sofa suits 
The gouty limb, 'tis true ; but gouty limb, 
Though on a Sofa, may I never feel : 
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes 
Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 
And skirted thick with intertexture firm 
Of thorny boughs ; have loved the rural walk 
O'er brills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink, 
E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds 
To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames ; 
And still remember, nor without regret, 
Of hours that sorrow since has much endear'd, 
How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, 
Still hungering, pennyless, and far from home, 
I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, 
Or blushing crabs, or berries, that eniboss 
The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite 
Disdains not ; nor the palate, undepraved 
By culinary arts, unsavoury deems. 
No Sofa then awaited my return ; 
Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs 
His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 
Incurring short fatigue ; and though our years, 
As life declines, speed rapidly away, 
And not a year but pilfers as he goes 
Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; 
A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees 
Their length and colour from the locks they spare 5 



120 THE TASK. 



The elastic spring of an unwearied foot, 

That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence, 

That play of lungs, inhaling and again 

Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 

Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, 

Mine have not pilfer 'd yet ; nor yet impair'd 

My relish of fair prospect ; scenes that soothed 

Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find 

Still soothing, and of power to charm me still. 

And witness, dear companion of my walks, 

Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 

Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, 

ConfirmM by long experience of thy worth 

And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire — 

Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 

Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere, 

And that my raptures are not conjured up 

To serve occasions of poetic pomp, - 

But genuine, and art partner of them all. 

How oft upon yon eminence our pace 

Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 

The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it bleT, 

While Admiration, feeding at the eye, 

And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene! 

Thence with what pleasure have we just discern' d 

The distant plough slow moving, and beside 

His labouring team, that swerved not from the track, 

The sturdy swain diminished to a boy ! 

Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 

Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er, 

Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 

Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 

Stand, never overlook'd, our favourite elms, 

That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 

While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 

That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 

The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; 

Displaying on its varied side the grace 

Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 

Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 

Just undulates upon the listening ear, 

Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 

Scenes must be beautiful which, daily view'd, 

Please daily, and whose novelty survives 

Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years — 

Praise justly due to those that I describe. 

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, 
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
The dash 01 Ocean on his winding shore, 
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, 



121 



And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 

Nor less composure waits upon the roar 

Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 

Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip 

Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall 

Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 

In matted grass, that with a livelier green 

Betrays the secret of their silent course. 

Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 

But animated nature sweeter still, 

To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 

The livelong night : nor these alone, whose notes 

Nice-finger'd Art must emulate in vain, 

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 

In still-repeated circles, screaming loud, 

The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl 

That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, 

Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, 

And only there, please highly for their sake. 

Peace to the artist whose ingenious thought 
Devised the weather- house, that useful toy ! 
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains, 
Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself ! 
More delicate his timorous mate retires. 
When winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, 
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home, 
The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
At such a season, and with such a charge, 
Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknot. 
A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
'Tis perch'd upon the green hill top, but close 
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms, 
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset 
With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
I call'd the low-roofd lodge the peasant's nesL 
And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear 
In village or in town, the bay of curs 
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, 
And infants clamorous whether pleased or pain'd, 
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine. 
Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge 
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
To drink sweet waters of the crystal well 
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, 
And, heavy laden, brings his beverage home, 



122 THE TASK. 



Far fetch'd, and little worth ; nor seldom waits., 
Dependent on the baker's punctual call. 
To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 
Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. 
So farewell envy of the peasant's nest! 
If solitude make scant the means of life, 
Society for me ! — thou seeming sweet, 
Be still a pleasing object in my view ; 
My visit still, but never mine abode. 

Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
From sultry suns ; and, in their shaded walks 
And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon 
The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
"We bear our shades about us; self-deprived 
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread^ 
And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
Thanks to Benevolus,* he spares me yet 
These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines ; 
And, though himself so polish' d, still reprieves 
The obsolete prolixity of shade. 

Descending now, — but cautious, lest too fast,— 
A sudden steep upon a rustic bridge, 
We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyine, 
"We mount again, and feel at every step 
Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
liaised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
Disfigures earth : and, plotting in the dark, 
Toils much to earn a monumental pile, 
That may record the mischiefs he has done. 

The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
The grand retreat from injuries impress'd 
By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, 
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
So strong the zeal to immortalise himself 
Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, 
Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred 
Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, 
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye ; 
And, posted on this speculative height, 
Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
The middle field ; but, scatter'd by degrees, 
Kach to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
There from the sun-burnt hay-field homeward creeps 

* John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Undenvood. 



123 



The loaded wain ; while, light en'd of its charge, 

The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 

The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 

Vociferous and impatient of delay. 

Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 

Diversified with trees of every growth, 

Alike, yet various. Here the grey smooth trunks 

Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, 

Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 

There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood 

Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. 

No tree in all the grove but has its charms, 

Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some, 

And of a wannish grey; the willow such, 

And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 

And ash far stretching his umbrageous arm; 

Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, 

Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak. 

Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun, 

The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 

Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 

Diffusing odours ; nor unnoted pass 

The sycamore, capricious in attire, 

Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 

Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 

O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 

Of hill and valley interposed between), 

The Ouse, dividing the well water d land, 

Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 

As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 

Hence the declivity is sharp and short, 
And such the re-ascent; between them weeps 
A little naiad her impoverish'd urn 
All summer long, which winter fills again. 
The folded gates would bar my progress now, 
BuC that the lord* of this enclosed demesne, 
Communicative of the good he owns, 
Admits me to a share : the guiltless eye 
Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
Refreshing change ! where now the blazing sun 1 
By short transition we have lost his glare, 
And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime, 
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn 
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
That yet a remnant of your race survives. 
How airy and how light the graceful arch, 
Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
Re-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
The chequer'd earth seems restless as a flood 
Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, 
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, 
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves 

* J C. Throckmorton, Esq. 



124 THE TASK. 



Play wanton, every moment, every spot. 

And now, with nerves new braced, and spirits cheer'd, 
We tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walks, 
With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
Deception innocent — give ample space 
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next ; 
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 
We may discern the thresher at his task. 
Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, 
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff 5 
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 
Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down 
And sleep not ; see him sweating o'er his bread 
Before he eats it. — 'Tis the primal curse, 
But soften'd into mercy ; made the pledge 
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. 

By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel 
That Nature rides upon maintains her health, 
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves, 
Its own revolvency upholds the world. 
Winds from all quarters agitate the air, 
And fit the limpid element for use, 
Else noxious : oceans, rivers, lakes and streams, 
All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed 
By restless undulation : e'en the oak 
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : 
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
The impression of the blast with proud disdain, 
Frowning, as tf in his unconscious arm 
He held the thunder : but the monarch owes 
His firm stability to what he scorns — 
More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. 
The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 
Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives 
No mean advantage from a kindred cause, 
From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
When custom bids, but no refreshment find, 
For none they need : the languid eye, the cheek 
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, 
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, 
Reproach their owner with that love of rest 
To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 
Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
By its true worth, the comforts it affords, 
And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
Good health, and, its associate in the most, 
(rood temper : spirits prompt to undertake, 
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task, 
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs; 



125 



E'en age itself seems privileged in them,. 
With clear exemption from its own defects. 
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 
The veteran shows, and, gracing a grey beard 
With yonthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
Sprightly, and old almost withont decay. 

Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, 
Farthest retires — an idol, at whose shrine 
Who oftenest sacrifice are favonr'd least. 
The love of Nature and the scenes she draws 
Is Nature's dictate. Strange ! there should be found. 
Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, 
Renounce the odours of the open field 
For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
Who, satisfied with only pencill'd scenes, 
Prefer to the performance of a Gfod 
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand ! 
Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art ; 
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire, 
None more admires, the painter's magic skil], 
Who shows me that which I shall never see, 
Conveys a distant country into mine, 
And throws Italian light on English walls. 
But imitative strokes can do no more 
Than please the eye — sweet Nature every sense. 
The air salubrious of her lofty hills, 
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales, 
And music of her woods — no works of man 
May rival these ; these all bespeak a power 
Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; 
'Tis free to all — 'tis every day reoew'd ; 
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 
He does not scorn it, who, imprison'd long 
In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank 
And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, 
Escapes at last to liberty and light : 
His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; 
His eye relumines its extingush'd fires ; 
He walks, he leaps, he runs — is wing'd with J07, 
And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
He does not scorn it, who has long endured 
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed 
With acrid salts ; his very heart athir3t 
To gaze at Nature in her green array, 
Upon the ship's tall side he stands possess'd 
With visions prompted by intense desire : 
Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
Far distant, such as he would die to find — 
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 

The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns ; 
The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, 






X20 



THE TASK. 



And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, 

And mar the face of beauty, when no causo 

For such immeasurable woe appears, 

These Flora banishes, arid gives the fair 

Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. 

It is the constant revolution, stale 

And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, 

That palls and satiates, and makes languid life 

A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 

Health suffers, and the spirits ebb ; the heart 

Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 

Is famish'd — nods no music in the song, 

No smartness in the jest; and wonders why. 

Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 

Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 

The paralytic, who can hold her cards, 

But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 

To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 

Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits, 

Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 

And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 

Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 

Between supporters ; and, once seated, sits, 

Through downright inability to rise, 

Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 

These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en theso 

Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he 

That overhangs a torrent to a twig. 

They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die, 

Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. 

Then wherefore not renounce them ? No — the dread, 

The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 

Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, 

And their inveterate habits, all forbid. 

Whom call we gay ] That honour has been long 
The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, 
That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest. 
The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
But save me from the gaiety of those 
Whose headaches nail them to a noon-day bed ; 
And save me too from theirs whose haggard eym 
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
For property stripp'd off by cruel chance ; 
From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain, 
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woa. 

The earth was made so various, that the mind 
Of desultory man, studious of change. 
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. 
Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight, 



12T 



Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off 
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
Then snug enclosures in the shelter'd vale, 
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, 
Delight us ; happy to renounce awhile, 
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, 
That such short absence may endear it more. 
Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, 
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts 
Above the reach of man. His hoary head, 
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner, 
Bound homeward, and in hope already there, 
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist 
A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows, 
And at his feet the baffled billows die. 
The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 
"With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deform'd, 
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom, 
And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 
Yields no unpleasinp ramble ; there the turf 
Smells fresh, and, rich in odoriferous herbs 
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
With luxury of unexpected sweets. 

There often wanders one, whom better days 
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound, 
A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves 
To distant shores; and she would sit and weep 
At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too, 
Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 
Would oft anticipate his glad return, 
And dream of transports she was not to knovr. 
She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 
And never smiled again! and now she roams 
The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day, 
And there, unless when charity forbids, 
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, 
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 
More tatter'd still ; and both but ill conceal 
A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. 
She begs an idle pin of all she meets, 
And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food, 
Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, 
Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is crazed! 

I see a column of slow-rising smoke 
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. 
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 
Between two poles upon a stick transverse, 
Eeceives the morsel — flesh obscene of dog, 
Or vermin, or at best of cock purloined 
From his accustom'd perch. Eard-faring race I 



THE TASK. 



They pick their fuel out of every hedge, 

Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd 

The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide 

Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, 

The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 

Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 

To conjure clean away the gold they touch, 

Conveying worthless dross into its place ; 

Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 

Strange ! that a creature rational, and cast 

In human mould, should brutalise by choice 

His nature ; and, though capable of arts 

By which, the world might profit, and himself 

Self-banish'd from society, prefer 

Such, squalid sloth to honourable toil ! 

Yefc even these, though, feigning sickness oft, 

They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, 

And vex their flesh, with artificial sores, 

Can change their whine into a mirthful note 

When safe occasion offers ; and with dance, 

And music of the bladder and the bag, 

Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 

Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 

The houseless rovers of the sylvan world : 

And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much 

Need other physic none to heal the effects 

Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. 

Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd 
By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure^ 
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to leam 5 
The manners and the arts of civil life. 
His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
Is obvious, placed within the easy reach 
Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. 
Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil ; 
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, 
And terrible to sight, as when she springs 
(If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote 
And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, 
And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind, 
By culture tamed, by liberty refreshed, 
And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. 
War and the chase engross the savage whole, 
War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant 
The envied tenants of some happier spot : 
The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
His hard condition with severe constraint 
Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns 
Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 
Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside* 
Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, 
And thus the rangers of the western world, 



THE SOFA. 



129 



Where it advances far into the deep, 

Towards the antarctic. E'en the favour'd isles, 

So lately found, although the constant sun 

Cheer all their seasons Tvith a grateful smile, 

Can boast but little virtue ; and, inert 

Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain 

In manners — victims of luxurious ease. 

These therefore I can pity, placed remote 

From all that science traces, art invents, 

Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed 

In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd 

By navigators uninform'd as they, 

Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again : 

But, far beyond the rest, and with, most cause, 

Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of thee 

Or thine, but curiosity, perhaps, 

Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw 

Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here 

With what superior skill we can abuse 

The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 

The dream is past ; and thou hast found again 

Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 

And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast tbou found 

Their former charms ] And, having seen our state, 

Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 

Of equipage, our gardens and our sports, 

And heard our music ; are thy simple friends, 

Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, 

As dear to thee as once ] And have thy joys 

Lost nothing by comparison with ours ] 

Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude 

And ignorant, except of outward show), 

I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 

And spiritless as never to regret 

Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 

Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, 

And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot, 

If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 

I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 

A patriot's for his country : thou art sad 

At thought of her forlorn and abject state, 

From which no power of thine can raise her up. 

Thus fancy paints thee, and though apt to err, 

Perhaps errs little when she paints thee thus. 

She tells me, too, that duly every morn 

Thou climb'st the mountain-top, with eager ey 

Exploring far and wide the watery waste 

For sight of ship from England. Every speck 

Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 

With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 

But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, 

And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared 



ISO THE TASK. 



To dream all night of what the day denied. 
Alas! expect it not. We found no bait 
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, 
Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
We travel far, 'tis true, hut not for nought ; 
And must he bribed to compass earth again 
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 

But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
And genial soil of cultivated life 
Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 
Yet not in cities oft : in proud, and gay, 
And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, 
As to a common and most noisome sewer, 
The dregs and feculence of every land. 
In cities foul example on most minds 
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, 
In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth and lust, 
And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. 
In cities vice is hidden with most ease, 
Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught 
By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 
Beyond the achievement of successful flight. 
I do confess them nurseries of the arts, 
In which they flourish most ; where, in the beams 
Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 
Of public note, they reach their perfect size. 
Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd 
The fairest capital of all the world : 
By riot and incontinence the worst. 
There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 
A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees 
All her reflected features. Bacon there 
(rives more than female beauty to a stone, 
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 
Nor does the chisel occupy alone 
The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 
Each province of her art her equal care. 
With nice incision of her guided steel 
She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 
So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 
The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, 
With which she gazes at yon burning disk 
Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots % 
In London : where her implements exact, 
With which she calculates, computes, and scans 
All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 
Measures an atom, and now girds a world ] 
In London. Where has commerce such a mart* 
So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied.. 
As London — opulent, enlarged, and still 
Increasing London ] Babylon of old 
Not more the glory of the earth than she, 
A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. 



She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two 
That so much beauty would do well to purge ; 
And show this queen of cities, that so fail* 
May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not whe. 
It is not seemly, nor of good report, 
That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 
To avenge than to prevent the breach of law : 
That she is rigid in denouncing death 
On petty robbers, and indulges life 
And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, 
To peculators of the public gold : 
That thieves at home must hang; but he, that puts 
Into his over-gorged and bloated purse 
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, 
That, through profane and infidel contempt 
Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul 
And abrogate, as roundly as she may, 
The total ordinance and will of God ; 
Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
And centring all authority in modes 
And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites 
Have dwindled into unrespected forms, 
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced. 

God made the country, and man made the town, 
"What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least be threat en'd in the fields and groves? 
Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about 
In chariots and sedans, kno^ no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
Your element ; there only can ye shine ; 
There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
Our groves were planted to console at noon 
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, 
Birds warbling all the music. "VTe can spare 
The splendour of your lamps ; they but eclipse 
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
Our more harmonious notes ; the thrush departs 
Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
There is a public mischief in your mirth ; 
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, 
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, 
Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
A mutilated structure; scon to iaH 



BOOK II.— THE TIME-PIECE. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former boot— Peace among the nations 
recommended on the ground of their common fellowship in sorrow— Prodigies enume- 
rated — Sicilian earthquakes — Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by sin- 
God the agent in them— The philosophy that stops at secondary causes reproved— Our 
own late miscarriages accounted for— Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontain- 
bleau— But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation— The reverend 
advertiser of engrared sermons— Petit-maitre parson — The good preacher— Picture of 
a theatrical clerical coxcomb — Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved — Apos- 
trophe to popular applause — Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with— 
Sum of the whole matter— Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity— Their 
folly and extravagance — The mischiefs of profusion — Profusion itself, with all its 
consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in tlie 
universities. 






Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumour of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war, 

Might never reach me more ! My ear is pain'd, 

My soul is sick, with every day's report 

Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. 

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, 

It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 

Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 

He finds his fellow guilty- of a skin 

Not colour'd like his own ; and, having power 

To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 

Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 

Lands intersected by a narrow frith 

Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 

Make enemies of nations, who had else 

Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 

Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 

And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, 

As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 

With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart, 

Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 

Then what is man ] And what man, seeing this, 

And having human feelings, does not blush, 

And hang his head, to think himself a man? 

I would not have a slave to till my ground* 



THE TIME-PIECE. 133 



To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 

That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. 

No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 

Just estimation prized above all price, 

I had much rather be myself the slave, 

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 

We have no slaves at home : — then why abroad % 

And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wav6 

That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 

Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 

Receive our air, that moment they are free ; 

They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 

That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 

And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 

And let it circulate through every vein 

Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power 

Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 

Sure there is need of social intercourse, 
Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, 
Between the nations in a world that seems 
To toll the death-bell of its own decease, 
And by the voice of all its elements 
To preach the general doom.* When were the winds 
Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? 
When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 
Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry] 
Fires from beneath, and meteors + from above, 
Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd, 
Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old 
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits 
More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
And pillars of our planet seem to fail, 
And Nature % with a dim and sickly eye 
To wait the close of all ] But grant her end 
More distant, and that prophecy demands 
A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet ; 
Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
Displeasure in His breast who smites the earth 
Or heals it, makes it languish, or rejoice. 
And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve 
And stand exposed by common peccancy 
To what no few have felt, there should be peace ; 
And brethren in calamity should love. 

Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments now 
Lie scatter'd where the shapely column stood. 
Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
The voice of singing and the sprightly ch ord 
Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show 
Suffer a syncope and solemn pause ; 

* Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica. + AugusC 18, 17SS. 

I Alluding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia during the whole sumraei 
of 1783. 



134 



While God performs upon the trembling stage 

Of his own works the dreadful part alone. 

How does fche earth receive bim I — with what signs 

Of gratulation and delight her King] 

Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, 

I lor sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, 

Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads 1 

She quakes at his approach, llcr hollow womb 

Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 

And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. 

The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, 

Por he has touch'd them. From the extremist point 

Of elevation down into the abyss 

J I is wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 

The rocks fall headlong, and' the valleys rise, 

The rivers die into offensive pools, 

And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross 

And mortal nuisance into all the air ; 

What solid was, by transformation strange. 

(/rows fluid ; and the fix'd and rooted earth, 

Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, 

Or with a vertiginous and hideous whirl 

Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 

The tumult and the overthrow, the panga 

And agonies of human and of brute 

Multitudes, fugitive on every side, 

And fugitive in vain. The sylvan sceno 

Migrates uplifted ; and with all its soil 

Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 

A new possessor, and survives the cha 

Ocean has Caught the frenzy, and, upwrought 
To an enormous and overbearing height, 
Not by a mighty wind, but by that Voice 
Which winds and waves obey, inva'les the shoro 
Resistless. Never such a sudden fleod, 
Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, 
IJossess'd an Inland scene. Where now the thro 
That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
Look'd to the sea for safety ? They are gone, 
Gone with tin- refluent wave into the deep — 
A prince with half his people ! Ancient towers, 

Arid roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 

Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume 

Life in the unproductive shades of death, 

Fall prone : tin; pale i D habitants come forth 

And, happy in their unforeseen relea 

From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 

The terrors of the day that sets them free. 

Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee last, 

Freedom ! whom they that lose thee jo r< ret, 

That e'en a judgment, making way for i\. 

SeemB in their eyes a mercy for thy sake. 

Such evil sin bath wrought; and such a flame 
Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth, 



I 

THE TIME-PIECE. 1 3 3 



And, in the furious inquest that it makes 
On Groda behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
The very elements, though each be meant 
The minister of man, to serve his wants, 
Conspire against him. With his breath he draws 
A plague into his blood; and cannot use 
Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
Storms rise to o'erwhelni him : or if stormy winds 
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, 
And, needing none assistance of the storm, 
Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there, 
The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, 
Or make his house his grave : nor so content, 
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
What then? — were they the wicked above all, 
And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle 
Moved not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiff, 
The sport of every wavej No : none are clear, 
And none than we more guilty. But, where all 
Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 
Of wrath obnoxious, Grod may choose his mark '. 
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
The more malignant. If he spared not them, 
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, 
Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee! 
Happy the man who sees a God employed 
In all the good and ill that chequer lite ! 
Resolving all events, with their effects 
And manifold results, into the will 
And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
The least of our concerns (since from the least 
The greatest oft originate) ; could chance 
Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
One lawless particle to thwart his plan; 
Then Grod might be surprised, and unforeseen 
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
The smooth and equal course of his affairs, 
This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; 
And, having found his instrument, forgets, 
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, 
Denies the power that wields it. Grod proclaims 
His hot displeasure against foolish men, 
That live an atheist life : involves the heaven 
In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin, 
And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend _ 
Blows mildew from between his shrivelTd. lips, 
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, 
And desolates a nation at a blast, 



1S6 THE TASK. 



Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells 
Of homogeneal and discordant springs 
And principles ; of causes, how they work 
By necessary laws their sure effects ; 
Of action and re-action. He has found 
The source of the disease that nature feels, 
And bids the world take heart and banish feaiv 
Thou fool ! will thy discovery of the cause 
Suspend the effect, or heal it 1 Has not God 
Still wrought by means since first he made the world 
And did he not of old employ his means 
To drown it 1 What is his creation less 
Than a capacious reservoir of means 
FormM for his use, and ready at his will 1 
Gfo, dress thine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of him, 
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; 
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still — 
My country ! and, while yet a nook is left 
Where English minds and manners may be found, 
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime 
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, 
And fields without a flower, for warmer France 
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. 
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 
As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
How, in the name of soldiership and sense, 
Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er 
With odours, and as profligate as sweet ; 
Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 
And love when they should fight ; when such as these 
Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 
Of her magnificent and awful cause 1 . 
Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
In every clime, and travel where we might, 
That we were born her children. Praise enough 
To fill the ambition of a private man, 
That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, 
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 
The hope of such hereafter ! They have fallen 
Each in his field of glory ; one in arms, 
And one in council— Wolfe upon .the lap 



THE TIME-PIECE. 137 



Of smiling Victory that moment won, 

And Chatham heart-sick of his country's Bhame ! 

They made us many soldiers. Chatham still 

Consulting England's happiness at home, 

Secured it by an unforgiving frown, 

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 

Put so much of his heart into his act, 

That his example had a magnet's force, 

And all were swift to follow whom all loved. 

Those suns are set. Oh, rise some other such ! 

Or all that we have left is empty talk 

Of old achievements and despair of new. 

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 
Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
That no rude savour maritime invade 
The nose of nice nobility ! Breathe soft, 
Ye clarionets ; and softer still, ye flutes ; 
That winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds, 
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! 
True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
True ; we may thank the perfidy of France, 
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, 
With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state ! 
A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
And gives his direst foe a Mend's embrace. 
And, shamed as we have been, to the very beard 
Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved 
Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
Ensured us mastery there, we yet retain 
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast 
At least superior jockeyship, and claim 
The honours of the turf as all our own ! 
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, 
And show the shame ye might conceal at home 
In foreign eyes ! — be grooms and win the plate, 
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown ! — 
'Tis generous to communicate your skill 
To those that need it ! Folly is soon learn'd : 
And under such preceptors who can fail ! 

There is a pleasure in poetic pains 
Which only poets know. The shifts and tums 5 
The expedients and inventions multiform, 
To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms 
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win — 
To arrest the fleeting images that fill 
The rnirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
And^ force them sit till he has pencill'd oif 
A faithful likeness of the forms he views : 
Then to dispose his copies with such art, 
That each may find its most propitious light, 
And shine by situation, hardly less 



1S3 



Than by the labour and the skill it cost j 

Are occupations of the poet's mind 

So pleasing, and that steal away the thought 

With such address from themes of sad import, 

That, lost in his own musings, happy man 1 

He feels the anxieties of life denied 

Their wonted entertainment, all retire. 

Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 

Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 

Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 

Aware of nothing arduous in a task 

They never undertook, they little note 

His dangers or escapes, and haply find 

Their least amusement where he found the most. 

But is amusement all 1 Studious of song, 

And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 

I would not trifle merely, though the world 

Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 

Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay ] 

It may correct a foible, may chastise 

The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 

Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ; 

But where are its sublimer trophies found 1 

"What vice has it subdued 1 whose heart reclaim'd 

By rigour ] or whom laugh'd into reform ] 

Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 

Laugh'd at, he laughs again ; and, stricken hard, 

Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, 

That fear no discipline of human hands. 

The pulpit, therefore (and I name it fill'd 
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
The pulpit (when the satirist has at last, 
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school, 
Spent all his force, and made no proselyte) — 
I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
Of its legitimate, peculiar powers) 
Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, 
The most important and effectual guard, 
Support, and ornament of Virtue's cause. 
There stands the messenger of truth : there stands 
The legate of the skies ! — His theme divine, 
His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
By him the violated law speaks out . 
Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet 
As angels use, the Gfospel whispers peace. 
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, 
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart, 
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms 
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule 
Of holy discipline, to glorious war, 
The sacramental host of Grod's elect ! 
Are all such teachers 1 — would to heaven all were 1 



THE TIME-PIECE. 



But hark — the doctor's voice !— fast wedged between 

Two empirics he stands, and with swell 'n cheeks 

Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 

Than all invective is his bold harangue, 

"While through that public organ of report 

He hails the clergy ; and, defying shame. 

Announces to the world his own and theirs ! _ 

He teaches those to read, whom schools dismissed, 

And colleges, untaught ; sells accent, tone, 

And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 

The adagio and andante it demands. 

He grinds divinity of other days 

Down into modern use ; transforms old print 

To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 

Of gallery critics by a thousand arts. 

Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware 1 

Oh, name it not Gath ! — it cannot be 

That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 

He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, 

Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 

Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church ! 

I venerate the man whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause; 
To such I render more than mere respect, 
"Whose actions say that they respect themselves, 
But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 
In conversation frivolous, in dress 
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 
Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
But rare at home, and never at his books, 
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor ; 
Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 
By infidelity and love of world, 
To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride : 
From such apostles, ye mitred heads, 
Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands 
On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own- 
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
His master strokes, and draw from his design. 
I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, 
And natural in gesture ; much impress'd 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 



140 THE TASK. 



May feel it too ; affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! Is it like 1 — Like whom 1 
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, 
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; 
Cry — hem ; and reading what they never wrote, 
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene ! 

In man or woman, but far most in man, 
And most .of all in man that ministers 
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
Object of my implacable disgust. 

What ! will a man play tricks ] will he indulge 
A silly fond conceit of his fair form, 
And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
And pretty face, in presence of his (rod ] 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 
When I am hungry for the bread of life % 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth, 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock ! 
Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare, 
And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
I seek divine simplicity in him 
Who handles things divine ; and all besides, 
Though learned with labour, and though much admired 
By curious eyes and judgments ill inform' d, 
To me is odious as the nasal twang 
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, 
Their task perform'd, relapse into themselves ; 
And, having spoken wisely, at the close 
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye, 
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not ! 
Forth comes the pocket mirror. — First we stroke 
An eyebrow ; next compose a straggling lock ; 
Then with an air most gracefully perform'd 
Fall back into our seat, extend an arm, 
And lay it at its ease with gentle care, 
With handkerchief in hand depending low: 
The better hand more busy gives the nose 
Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye, 
With opera glass, to watch the moving scene, 
And recognise the slow-retiring fair. — 
Now this is fulsome ; and offends me more 
Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
May be indifferent to her house of clay, 



THE TIME-PIECE. 14} 

And slight the hovel as beneath her care 5 
But how a body so fantastic, trim, 
And quaint, in its deportment and attire, 
Can lodge a heavenly mind — demands a doubt. 

He that negotiates between God and man, 
As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 
Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitful 
To court a grin, when you should woo a soul ; 
To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
Pathetic exhortation ; and to address 
The skittish fancy with facetious tales, 
"When sent with God's commission to the heart ! 
So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, 
And I consent you take it for your text, 
Your only one, till sides and benches fail 
No : he was serious in a serious cause, 
And understood too well the weighty terms 
That he had taken in charge. He would not stoop 
To conquer those by jocular exploits 
Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 

popular applause ! what heart of man 
Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms ] 
The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
But, swell'd into a gust — who then, alas ! 
With all his canvas set, and inexpert, 
And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power ? 
Praise, from the rivelTd lips of toothless, bald 
Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 
And craving Poverty, and in the bow 
Respectful of the smutch'd artificer, 
Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb 
The bias of the purpose. How much more, 
Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite, 
In language soft as Adoration breathes ? 
Ah, spare your idol ! think him human still. 
Charms he may have, but he has frailties too ! 
Dote not toomuch, nor spoil what ye admire. 

All truth is from the sempiternal source 
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome 
Drew from the stream below. More favour'd, we 
Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain-head. 
To them it flow'd much mingled and denied 
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 
Illusive of philosophy, so call'd, 
But falsely. Sages after sages strove 
In vain to filter off a crystal di aught 
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 
The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred 
Intoxication and delirium wild. 
In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth 
And spring-time of the world; ask'd, Whence is niant 



242 THE TASK. 



Why form'd at all 1 and wherefore as he is ? 

Where must he find his Maker] with what rites 

Adore him 1 Will he hear, accept, and bless] 

Or does he sit regardless of his works 1 

Has man within him an immortal seed 1 

Or does the tomb take all ] If he survive 

His ashes, where 1 and in what weal or woe 1 

Knots worthy of solution, which alone 

A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 

And all at random, fabulous and dark, 

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life, 

Defective and unsanction'd, proved too weak 

To bind the roving appetite, and lead 

Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 

'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, 

Explains all mysteries, except her own, 

And so illuminates the path of life 

That fools discover it, and stray no more. 

Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, 

My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 

Of Academus — is this false or true 1 

Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ] 

If Christ, then why resort at every turn 

To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short 

Of man's occasions, when in him reside 

Grace, knowledge, comfort- an unfathom'd store 

How ofb, when .Faul has served us with a text, 

Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully preach'd ! 

Men that, if now alive, would sit content 

And humble learners of a Saviour's worth, 

Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, 

Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too ! 

And thus it is. — The pastor, either vain 
By nature, or by flattery made so, taught 
To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt 
Absurdly, not his office, but himself ; 
Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn ; 
Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach ; 
Perverting often, by the stress of lewd 
And loose example, whom he should instruct ; 
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace 
The noblest function, and discredits much 
The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 
For ghostly counsel — if it either fall 
Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
Of some sincerity on the giver's part ; 
Or be dishonour'd in the exterior form 
And mode of its conveyance by such tricks 
As move derision, or by foppish airs 
And histrionic mummery, that let down 
The pulpit to the level of the stage — 
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 
The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught, 



THE TIME-PIECE. 143 



"While prejudice in men of stronger minds 

Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see. 

A relaxation of religion's hold 

Upon the roving and imtutor'd heart 

Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd, 

The laity run wild. — But do they now] 

Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 

As nations, ignorant of God, contrive 
A wooden one, so we, no longer taught 
By monitors that mother church supplies* 
Now make our own. Posterity will ask 
(If e'er posterity see verse of mine) 
Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence, 
What was a monitor in George's days 1 
My very gentle reader, yet unborn, 
Of whom I needs must augur better things, 
Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world 
Productive only of a race like ours, 
A monitor is wood — plank shaven thin. 
We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced 
And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use 
Sovereign and most effectual to secure 
A form, not now gymnastic as of yore, 
From rickets and distortion, else our lot. 
But, thus admonish'd, we can walk erect — 
One proof at least of manhood ! while the friend 
Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 
Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore, 
And by caprice as multiplied as his, 
Just please us while the fashion is at fall, 
But change with every moon. The sycophant 
Who waits to dress us arbitrates their date ; 
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye ; 
Finds one ill made, another obsolete, 
This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived ; 
And, making prize of all that he condemns, 
With our expenditure defrays his own. 
Variety's the very spice of life, 
That gives it all its flavour. We have run 
Through every change that Fancy, at the loom 
Exhausted, has had genius to supply ; 
And, studious of mutation still, discard 
A real elegance, a little used, 
For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. 
We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar drj s 
And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires ; 
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, 
Where peace and hospitality might reign. 
What man that lives, and that knows how to live^ 
Would fail to exhibit at the public shows 
A fcmn as splendid as the proudest there, 



THE TASK. 



Though appetite raise outcries at the cost 1 

A man of the town dines late, but soon enough, 

With reasonable forecast and despatch. 

To ensure a side-box station at half-price. 

You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress. 

His daily fare as delicate. Alas ! 

He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems 

With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet ! 

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 

With magic wand. So potent is the spell, 

That none, decoy'd into that fatal ring, 

Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape. 

There we grow early grey, but never wise ; 

There form connexions, but acquire no friend ; 

Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success ; 

Waste youth in occupations only fit 

For second childhood, and devote old age 

To sports which only childhood could excuse. 

There they are happiest who dissemble best 

Their weariness ; and they the most polite 

Who squander time and treasure with a smile, 

Though at their own destruction. She that asks 

Her dear five hundred friends contemns them all, 

And hates their coming. They (what can they less 1} 

Make just reprisals ; and, with cringe and shrug, 

And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 

All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace. 

Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, 

And gild our chamber ceilings as they^ pass, 

To her, who, frugal only that her thrift 

May feed excesses she can ill afford, 

Is hackney'd home unlackey'd ; who, in haste 

Alighting, turns the key in her own door, 

And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing light, 

Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 

Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wiv©i 

On Fortune's velvet altar offering up 

Their last poor pittance — Fortune, most severe 

Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 

Than all that held their routs in Juno's heaven.— 

So fare we in this prison-house, the world ; 

And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 

So many maniacs dancing in their chains. 

They gaze upon the links that hold them fast 

With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, 

Then shake them in despair, and dance again ! 

Now basket up the family of plagues 
That waste our vitals ; peculation, sale 
Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 
By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen 
As the necessities their authors feel ; 
Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat 
At the right door. Profusion is the sire. 



THE TIME-PIECE. 145 



Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base 
In character, has litter'd all the land, 
And bred, within the memory of no few, 
A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, 
A people such as never was till now. 
It is a hungry vice : — it eats up all 
That gives society its beauty, strength, 
Convenience, and security, and use : 
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws 
Can seize the slippery prey : unties the knot 
Of union, and converts the sacred band, 
That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
Profusion, deluging a state with lusts 
Of grossest nature and of worst effects, 
Prepares it for its ruin : hardens, blinds, 
And warps the consciences of public men, 
Till they can laugh at Virtue ; mock the fools 
That trust them ; and in the end disclose a face 
That would have shock'd Credulity herself, 
Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse — 
Since all alike are selfish, why not they] 
This does Profusion, and the accursed cause 
Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
In colleges and halls, in ancient days, 
When learning, virtue, piety, and truth 
Were precious and inculcated with care, 
There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head, 
Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, 
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, 
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 
His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
Play'd on his lips ; and in his speech was heard 
Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
The occupation dearest to his heart 
Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 
The head of modest and ingenuous worth, 
That blush'd at its own praise ; and press the youth 
Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew 
Beneath his care a thriving vigorous plant ; 
The mind was well-inform'd, the passions held 
Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, 
That one among so many overlean'd 
The limits of control, his gentle eye 
Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke : 
His frown was full of terror, and his voice 
Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe 
As left him not, till penitence had won 
Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. 
But Discipline, a faithful servant long, 
Declined at length into the vale of years : 
A palsy struck his arm ; his sparkling eye 
Was quench 'd in rheums of age ; his voice, unstrung. 



m THE TASK. 



Grew tremulous, and moved derision more 
Than reverence in perverse rebellious yout^. 
So colleges and halls neglected much 
Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, 
O'erlook'd and unemploy'cl, fell sick, and died. 
Then Study languish'd, Emulation slept, 
And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 
Of solemn farce, where igncrance in stilts, 
His cap well lined with logic not his own, 
With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part, 
Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny- 
Became stone blind ; Precedence went in truck, 
x\nd he was competent whose purse was so. 
A dissolution of all bonds ensued; 
The curbs invented for the' mulish mouth 
Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 
Grew rusty by disuse ; and massy gates 
Forgot their office, opening with a touch ; 
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, 
The tassell'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 
A mockery of the world ! "Vv hat need of these 
For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure, 
Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen 
With belted waist and pointers at their heels 
Than in the bounds of duty ] What was leam'd, 
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot ; 
And such expense as pinches parents blue, 
And mortifies the liberal hand of love, 
is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports 
And vicious pleasures ; buys the boy a name 
That sits a stigma on his father's house, 
And cleaves through life inseparably close 
To him that wears it. What can after-games 
Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, 
The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon.. 
Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 
Where science and where virtue are profess'd ] 
They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 
His folly, but to spoil him is a task 
That bids defiance to the united powers 
Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 
Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse] 
The children, crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd, 
Through want of care ; or her whose winking eye 
And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood ! 
The nurse, no doubt. Regardless of her charge, 
She needs herself correction ; needs to learn 
That it is dangerous sporting with the world, 
With things so sacred as a nation's trust, 
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 

All are not such. I had a brother once — 
Peace to the memory of a man of W'Drth, 
A man of letters, and of manners tool 



THE TIME-PIECE. 141 

Of manners sweet as Virtue always wears, 

When gay good-nature dresses her in smiles. 

He graced a college/ in which order yet 

Was sacred ; and was honour'd, loved, and wept 

By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 

Some minds are temper'd happily, and niix'd 

With such ingredients of good'sense and taste 

Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 

With such a zeal to be what they approve, 

That no restraints can circumscribe them more 

Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 

Nor can example hurt them ; what they see 

Of vice in others but enhancing more 

The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 

If such escape contagion, and emerge 

Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, 

And give the world their talents and themselves, 

Small thanks to those, whose negligence or sloth 

Exposed their inexperience to the snare, 

And left them to an undirected choice. 

See then the quiver broken and decay'd, 
In which are kept our arrows ! Rusting there 
In wild disorder, and unfit for use, 
What wonder, if, discharged into the world, 
They shame their shooters with a random flight, 
Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine ! 
Well may the church wage unsuccessful war, 
With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide 
The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, 
And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 

Have we not tracked the felon home, and found 
His birthplace and his dam ] The country mourns, 
Mourns because every plague that can infest 
Society, and that saps and worms the base 
Of the edifice that Policy has raised, 
Swarms in all quarters ; meets the eye, the ear, 
And suffocates the breath at every tan. 
Profusion breeds them ; and the cause itself 
Of that calamitous mischief has been found : 
Found too where most offensive, in the skirts 
Of the robed pedagogue ! Else let the arraign'd 
Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. 
So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm, 
And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, 
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth, 
Polluting Egypt : gardens, fields, and plains 
Were cover'd with the pest ,* the streets were fill'd ? 
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook ; 
Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped ; 
And the land stank — so numerous was the fry. 

• Benefc College, Caisbriiga. 



BOOK IIL-THE GAEDEN 



THE ARGUMENT. 

SeH-recollection and reproof— Address to domestic happiness — Some account of myseli 
—The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wise — Justification of my 
censures — Divine illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher — The ques- 
tion, "What is truth? answered by other questions — Domestic happiness addressed 
again — Few lovers of the country — My tame hare — Occupations of a retired gentleman 
in his garden — Pruning — Framing — Greenhouse — Sowing of flower seeds— The coun- 
try preferable to the town even in the winter— Reasons why it is deserted at that 
season — Ruinous effects of gaming, and of expensive improvement— Book ccncluUee 
with an apostrophe to the metropolis. 

As one who, long in thickets and in brakes 

Entangled, winds now this way and now that 

His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; 

Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd, 

And sore discomfited, from slough to slough 

Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; 

If chance at length he finds a greensward smooth 

And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, 

He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, 

And winds his way with pleasure and with ease : 

So I, designing other themes, and calFd 

To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, 

To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams, 

Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat 

Of academic fame (howe'er deserved), 

Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. 

But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road 

I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, 

Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil, 

If toil awaits me, or if dangers new. 

Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect 
Most part an empty ineffectual sound, 
What chance that I, to fame so little known, 
Nor conversant with men or manners much. 
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 
Crack the satiric thong ? 'Twere wiser far 
For me, enamour'd of sequ ester 'd scenes, 
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose, 
"Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, 
My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains ; 
Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft 
And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air 
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
[Chere, undisturb'd by Folly, and apprised 
How great the danger of disturbing her, 



THE GARDEN. 149 



To muse in silence, or at least confine 
Remarks that gall so many to the few, 
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
Isofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault 
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 

Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss 
Of Paradise that has survived the fall! 
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and puro 
Or tasting long enjoy thee ! too infirm, 
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect 
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; 
Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms 
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again. 
Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, 
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist 
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm 
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; 
For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 
And finding in the calm of truth-tried love 
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made 
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown ! 
Till prostitution elbows us aside 
In all our crowded streets; and senates seem 
Convened for purposes of empire less 
Than to release the adultress from her bond. 
The adultress ! what a theme for angry verse ! 
What provocation to the indignant heart, 
That feels for injur'd love S but I disdaia 
The nauseous task, to paint her as she is, 
Cruel, abandoned, glorying in her shame ! 
No : — let her pass, and, charioted along 
In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ; 
The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white ; 
And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, 
Whom matrons now, of character unsmirch'd, 
And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. 
Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time, 
Not to be pass'd : and she, that had renounced 
Her sex's honour, was renounced herself 
By all that prized it ; not for prudery's sake, 
But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 
'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, 
Desirous to return, and not received ; 
But was a wholesome rigour in the main, 
And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care 
That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 
Men too were nice in honour in those days, 
And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp'd, 
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, 
"Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 
His country, or was slack when she reauired 



150 THE TASK. 



His every nerve in action and at stretch, 

Paid, with the blood that he had basely spared, 

The price of his default. But now — yes, now 

We are become so candid and so fair, 

So liberal in construction, and so rich 

In Christian charity (good-natured age !), 

That they are safe, sinners of either sex, 

Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, well bred, 

Well equipaged, is ticket good enough 

To pass us readily through every door. 

Hypocrisy, detest her as we may 

(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet), 

May claim this merit still — that she admits 

The worth of what she mimics with such care, 

And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; 

But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, 

Where Yice has such allowance, that her shifts 

And specious semblances have lost their use. 

I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
Long since : with many an arrow deep infix'd 
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew, 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
There was I found by One who had himself 
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore, 
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
With gentle force soliciting the darts, 
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. 
Since then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
My former partners of the peopled scene ; 
With few associates, not wishing more. 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may, 
With other views of men and manners now 
Than once, and others of a life to come. 
I see that all are wanderers, gone astray 
Eeach in his own delusions ; they are lost 
In chase of fancied happiness., still woo'd 
And never won. Dream after dream ensues; 
And still they dream that they shall still succeed ; 
And still are disappointed. Rings the world 
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, 
And add two-thirds of the remaining half, 
And find the total of their hopes and fears 
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay 
As if created only like the fly, 
That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon f 
To sport their season, and be seen no more. 
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, 
And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 
Some write a narrative of wars, and feats 
Of heroes little known ; and call the rant 
A history ; describe the man, of whom 
His own coevals took but little note ; 
And paint his person, character, ana views. 



THE GAPDEN. 151 



As they had known Mm from his mother's womb. 

They disentangle from the puzzled skein, 

In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, 

The threads of politic and shrewd design, 

That ran through all his purposes, and charge 

His mind with meanings that he never had, 

Or having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore 

The solid earth, and from the strata there 

Extract a register, by which we learn, 

That He who made it, and reveal'd its date 

To. Moses, was mistaken in its age. 

Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 

Contrive creation ; travel nature up 

To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, 

And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fix'd, 

And planetary some ; what gave them first 

Rotation, from what fountain fiow'd their light. 

Great contest follows, and much learned dust 

Involves the combatants ; each claiming truth, 

And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 

The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 

In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 

To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 

Is't not a pity, now, that tickling rheums 

Should ever tease the lungs and blear the sight 

Of oracles like these? Great pity too, 

That, having wielded the elements, and built 

A thousand systems, each in his own way, 

They should go out in fume, and be forgot? 

Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they 

But frantic who thus spend it ] all for smoke — 

Eternity for bubbles proves at last 

A senseless bargain. "When I see such games 

Play'd by the creatures of a Power who swears 

That he will judge the earth, and call the fool 

To a sharp reckoning that has lived in vain ; 

And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 

And prove it in the infallible result 

So hollow and so false — I feel my heart 

Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, 

If this be learning, most of all deceived. 

Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps 

While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 

Defend me therefore, common sense, say I, 

From reveries so airy, from the toil 

Of dropping buckets into empty wells, 

And growing old in drawing nothing up ! 

'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, 
Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, 
And overbuilt with most impending brows, — 
'Twere well could you permit the world to live 
As the world pleases : what's the world to youl 
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk 
As sweet as charity from human breasts. 



152 THE TASK. 

I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, 
And exercise all functions of a man. 
How then should I and any man that lives 
Be strangers to each other ] Pierce my vein, 
Take of the crimson stream meandering there, 
And catechise it well : apply thy glass, 
Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
Congenial with thine own : and, if it be, 
"What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, 
To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
One common Maker bound me to the kind 1 
True ; I am no proficient, I confess, 
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift 
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, 
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; 
I cannot analyse the air, nor catch 
The parallax of yonder luminous point, 
That seems half-quench'd in the immense abyss : 
Such powers I boast not — neither can I rest 
A silent witness of the headlong rage, 
Or heedless folly by which thousands die, 
Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 

Gfod never meant that man should scale the heavens 
By strides of human wisdom. In his works, 
Though wondrous, he commands us in his word 
To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 
The mind indeed, enlighten' d from above, 
Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 
His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
Bnt never yet did philosophic tube, 
That brings the planets home into the eye 
Of Observation, and discovers, else 
Not visible, his family of worlds, 
Discover him that rules them ; such a veil 
Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, 
And dark in things divine. Full often too 
Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 
Of nature overlooks her Author more ; 
From instrumental causes proud to draw 
Conclusions retrograde and mad mistake. 
But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, 
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized 
In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
Has eyes indeed ; and, viewing all she sees 
As meant to indicate a (rod to man, 
Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
Learning has borne such fruit in other days 
On all her branches : piety has found 
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 
Has flow'd from lips wet with CastaHan dews. 



THE GARDEN. 153 



Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage ! 
Sagacious reader of the works of Grod, 
And in his word sagacious. Such, too, thine, 
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, 
And fed on manna ! And such thine, in whom 
Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment praised, 
And sound integrity, not more than famed 
For sanctity of manners undefiled. 

All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; 
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream, 
The man we celebrate must find a tomb, 
And we that worship him ignoble graves. 
Nothing is proof against the general curse 
Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
The only amaranthine flower on earth 
Is virtue ; the only lasting treasure, truth. 
But what is truth ] 'Twas Pilate's question put 
To Truth itself, that deign d him no reply. 
And wherefore ? will net Gfod impart his light 
To them that ask it ] — Freely — 'tis his joy, 
His glory, and his nature to impart. 
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, 
Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
What's that which brings contempt upon a book, 
And him who writes it, though the style be neat, 
The method clear, and argument exact 1 
That makes a minister in holy things 
The joy of many and the dread of more, 
His name a theme for praise and for reproach \~ ■ 
That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
Depreciates and undoes us in our own ] 
What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, 
That learning is too proud to gather up ; 
But which the poor, and the despised of all, 
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ] 
Tell me — and I will tell thee what is truth. 

friendly to the best pursuits of man, 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life in rural pleasure pass'd ! 
Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets ; 
Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
To understand and choose thee for their own. 
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, 
E'en as his first progenitor, and quits, 
Though placed in Paradise (for earth has still 
Some traces of her youthful beauty left), 
Substantial happiness for transient joy. 
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nuis8 
The growing seeds of wisdom ; that suggest, 
By every pleasing image they present, 
Reflections such as meliorate the heart. 
Compose the passions, and exalt the mind ; 



154 THE TASK. 



Scenes such a3 these 'tis his supreme delight 

To fill with riot, and defile with blood. 

Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 

We persecute, annihilate the tribes 

That draw the sportsman over hill and dale, 

Fearless and rapt away from all his cares; 

Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, 

Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 

Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, 

Be quell'd in all our summer months' retreat ; 

How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, 

Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves., 

Would find them hideous miseries of the spleen, 

And crowd the roads, impatient for the town ! 

They love the country, and -none else, who seek 

For their own sake its silence and its shade. 

Delights which who would leave, that has a heart 

Susceptible of pity, or a mind 

Cultured and capable of sober thought, 

For all the savage din of the swift pack, 

And clamours of the field ] — Detested sport, 

That owes its pleasures to another's pain ; 

That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 

Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 

With eloquence, that agonies inspire 

Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs 1 

Vain tears, alas ! and sighs that never find 

A corresponding tone in jovial souls ! 

Well — one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare 

Has never heard the sanguinary yell 

Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 

Innocent partner of my peaceful home, 

Whom ten long years' experience of my care 

Has made at last familiar ; she has lost 

Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 

Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 

Yes — thou mayest eat thy bread, and lick the hand 

That feeds thee ; thou mayest frolic on the floor 

At evening, and at night retire secure 

To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd ; 

For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledged 

All that is human in me to protect 

Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 

If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave ; 

And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 

" I knew at least one hare that had a friend/' 

How various his employments whom the world 
Calls idle ; and who justly in return 
Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 
Delightful industry enjoyM at home, 
And Nature, in her cultivated trim 
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad — 
Can he want occupation who has these] 



*HE GARDEN. 155 



Will he be idle who lias much to enjoy 1 

Me, therefore, studious of laborious easo, 

Not slothful, happy to deceive the time, 

Not waste it, and aware that human life 

Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 

When He shall call his debtors to account, 

From whom are all our blessings, business finds 

E'en here : while sedulous I seek to improve, 

At least neglect not, or leave unemployed, 

The mind He gave me ; driving it, though slack 

Too oft, and much impeded in its work, 

By causes not to be divulged in vain, 

To its just point — the service of mankind. 

He, that attends to his interior self, 

That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 

That hungers, and supplies it ; and who seeks 

A social, not a dissipated life, 

Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 

No unimportant, though a silent, task. 

A life all turbulence and noise may seem 

To him that leads it, wise, and to be praised ; 

But wisdom is a pearl with most success 

Sought in still water and bene: iW n clear skies. 

He that is ever occupied in storms, 

Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, 

Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 

The morning finds the self-sequestered man 
Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
Whether inclement seasons recommend 
His warm but simple home, where he enjoys 
With her who shares his pleasures and his heart-, 
Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph 
Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book 
Well chosen, and not sullenly perused 
In selfish silence, but imparted oft, 
As ought occurs, that she might smile to hear, 
Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
Or if the garden, with its many cares, 
All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
The welcome call, conscious how much the h. 
Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye, 
Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen, 
Or misapplying his unskilful strength. 
Nor does he govern only or direct, 
But much performs himself. No works, indeed, 
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil, 
Servile employ; but such as may amuse, 
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees, 
That meet no barren interval between, 
With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford ; 
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. 
These therefore are his own peculiar charge ; 
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, 



156 



None "but his steel approach them. "What is weak, 
Disteniper'd, or has lost prolific powers, 
Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand 
Dooms to the knife : nor does he spare the soft 
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth, 
But barren, at the expense of neighbouring twigs 
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 
"With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
Large expectations, he disposes neat, 
At measured distances, that air and sun, 
Admitted freely, may afford their aid, 
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence, 
And hence e'en Winter fills his wither'd hand 
With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.* 
Fair recompence of labour well bestow' d, 
And wise precaution ; which a clime so rude 
Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
Discovering much the temper of her sire. 
For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 
Maternal nature had reversed its course, 
She brings her infants forth with many smiles 5 
But, once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. 
He therefore, timely warn'd himself, supplies 
Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweej 
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild, 
The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam.^ 
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 

To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, 
So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
So coveted, else base and disesteem'd — 
Food for the vulgar merely — is an art 
That toiling ages have but just matured, 
And at this moment unassay'd in song. 
Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since^ 
Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard ; 
And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; 
And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye, 
The solitary shilling. Pardon then, 
Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame, 
The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers^ 
Presuming an attempt not less sublime, 
Piint for the praise of dressing to the taste 
Of critic appetite no sordid fare, 
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 

The stable yields a stercoraceous heap, 
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, 
And potent to resist the freezing blast ; 

t Miraturque noYos fractus et cou stia pcma.— VI79 



THE GARDEN. 151 



For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf 

Deciduous, when now November dark 

Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 

Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. 

"Warily therefore, and with prudent heed, 

He seeks a favour'd spot; that where he builds 

The agglomerated pile his frame may front 

The sun's meridian disk, and at the back 

Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 

Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 

Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe 

The ascending damps ; then leisurely impose. 

And lightly, shaking it with agile hand 

From the full fork, the saturated straw. 

"What longest binds the closest forms secure 

The shapely side, that as it rises takes, 

By just degrees, an overhanging breadth, 

Sheltering the base with its projected eaves; 

The uplifted frame, compact at every joint, 

And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 

He settles next upon the sloping mount, 

"Whose sharp declivity shoots oft* secure 

From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 

He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 

Thrice must the voluble and restless earth 

Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, 

Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass 

Diffused, attain the surface : when, behold ! 

A pestilent and most corrosive steam, 

Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, 

And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, 

Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharged 

And -drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, 

In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank; 

And, purified, rejoices to have lost 

Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 

The impatient fervour, which it first conceives 

"Within its reeking bosom, threatening death 

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 

The way to glory by miscarriage foul, 

Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 

The auspicious moment, when the temper 'd heat, 

Friendly to vital motion, may afford 

Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 

The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, 

And glossy, he commits to pots of size 

Diminutive, well fill'd with well prepared 

And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long, 

And drunk no moisture from the drippiDg clouds. 

These on the warm and genial earth, that hides 

The smokiDg manure, and o'erspreads it all, 

He places lightly, and, as time subdues 

The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 



156 THE TASK. 



In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 

Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick, 

And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first 

Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon, 

If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 

Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 

Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, 

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 

A pimple, that portends a future sprout, 

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed 

The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; 

Prolific all, and harbingers of more. 

The crowded roots demand enlargement now, 

And transplantation in an ampler space. 

Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply 

Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, 

Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 

These have their sexes ; and when summer shines, 

The bee transports the fertilizing meal 

From flower to flower, and e'en the breathing air 

"Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 

Not so when winter scowls. Assistant Art 

Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass 

The glad espousals, and ensures the crop. 

Grudge not, ye rich (since Luxury must have 
His dainties, and the World's more numerous half 
Lives by contriving dedicates for you), 
Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares, 
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill, 
That day and night are exercised, and hang 
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 
That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. 
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam, 
Moisture, and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies s 
Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work 
Dire disappointment, that admits no cure, 
And which no care can obviate. It were long, 
Too long, to tell the expedients and the shifts 
Which he that fights a season so severe 
Devises while he guards his tender trust ; 
And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise 
Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song 
Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit 
Of too much labour, worthless when produced. 

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too. 
Unconscious of a less propitious clime, 
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, 
While the winds whistle and the snows descend. 
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf 
Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
Of Portugal and western India there, 
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, 



THE GARDEN. 158 



Peep through their polish/d foliage at the storm, 

And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 

The amomum there with intermingling flowers 

And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 

Her crimson honours ; and the spangled beau, 

Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 

All plants, of every leaf that can endure 

The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite. 

Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 

Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 

Their jessamine, her jessamine remote 

Canraria : foreigners from many lands, 

They form one social shade, as if convened 

By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 

Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 

But by a master's hand, disposing well 

The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 

Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, 

And dress the regular yet various scene. 

Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 

The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still 

Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 

So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, 

A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage ; 

And so, while Grarrick, as renown'd as he, 

The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose 

Some note of Nature's music from his lips, 

And covetous of Shak spear e's beauty, seen 

In every flash of his far beaming eye. 

Nor taste alone and well contrived display 

Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace 

Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 

Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, 

And more laborious ; cares on which depends 

Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. 

The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd, 

Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 

And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots 

Close interwoven, where they meet the vase, 

Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch 

Must fly before the knife ; the wither'd leaf 

Must be detached, and where it strews the floor 

Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 

Contagion, and disseminating death. 

Discharge but these kind offices (and who 

"Would spare, that loves them, offices like these 1) 

Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased^ 

The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf, 

Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad 

Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, 
All healthful, are the employs of rural life. 
Reiterated as the wheel of time 
Runs round ; still ending and beginning still. 



160 THE TASK. 



Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll, 

That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears 

A flowery island, from the dark green lawn 

Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due 

To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 

Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd 

And sorted hues (each giving each relief, 

And by contrasted beauty shining more) 

Is needful. . Strength may wield the ponderous spade, 

May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home ; 

But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, 

And most attractive, is the fair result 

Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 

Without it all is gothic as the scene 

To which the insipid citizen resorts 

Near yonder heath; where Industry misspent, 

But proud of his uncouth ill chosen task, 

Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons 

Of close ramm'd stones has charged the encumber'd soil, 

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. 

He therefore, who would see his flowers disposed 

Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 

The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 

Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene 

Shall break into its preconceived display, 

Each for itself, and all as with one voice 

Conspiring, may attest his bright design. 

Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd 

His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 

Few self-supported flowers endure the wind 

Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 

Of the smooth shaven prop, and, neatly tied, 

Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 

For interest sake, the living to the dead. 

Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused 

And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, 

Like virtue, thriving most where little seen ; 

Some, more aspiring, catch the neighbour shrub 

With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, 

Else unadorn'd with many a gay festoon 

And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 

The strength they borrow with the grace they lend 

All hate the rank society of weeds, 

Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust. 

The impoverish'd earth ; an overbearing race, 

That, like the multitude made faction mad, 

Disturb good order, and degrade true worth, 

blest seclusion from a jarring world, 
Which he, thus occupied, enjoys ! Retreat 
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
Lost innocence, or cancel follies past; 
But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
From all assaults of evil ; proving still 
A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease 



THE GARDEN. lgl 



By vicious Custom, raging uncontroll'd 

Abroad, and desolating public life. 

When fierce temptation, seconded within 

By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 

Temper'd in Hell, invades the throbbing breast, 

To combat may be glorious, and success 

Perhaps may crown us; but to fly is safe. 

Had I the choice of sublunary good, 

What could I wish, that I possess not here ] 

Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship, peace, 

No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse, 

And constant occupation without care. 

Thus blest I draw a picture of that bliss; 

Hopeless indeed, that dissipated minds, 

And profligate abusers of a world 

Created fair so much in vain for them, 

Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, 

Allured by my report : but sure no less 

That self-condemn'd they must neglect the prize, 

And what they will not taste must yet approve. 

What we admire we praise; and, when we praise, 

Advance it into notice, that, its worth 

Acknowledged, others may admire it too. 

I therefore recommend, though at the risk 

Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, 

The cause of piety and sacred truth, 

And virtue, and those scenes which God ordain'd 

Should best secure them and promote them most, 

Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 

Forsaken, or through folly not enjoyed. 

Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles, 

And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol. 

Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd, 

Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, 

To grace the full pavilion. His design 

Was but to boast his own peculiar good, 

Which all might view with envy, none partake. 

My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets, 

And she that sweetens all my bitters too, 

Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 

And lineaments divine I trace a hand 

That errs not, and finds raptures still renew'd, 

Is free to all men— universal prize. 

Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 

Admirers, and be destined to divide 

With meaner objects e'en the few she finds! 

Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves, and flowers. 

She loses all her influence. Cities then 

Attract us, and neglected Nature pines, 

Abandon'd as unworthy of our love. 

But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed 

By roses ; and clear suns, though scarcely felt; 

And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure 

From clamour, and whose very silence charms ; 



103 THE TASK. 



To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse 

That metropolitan volcanoes make, 

Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long; 

And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, 

And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels ? 

They would be, were not madness in the head, 

And folly in the heart ; were England now 

What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, 

And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 

To all the virtues of those better days, 

And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 

Knew their own masters ; and laborious hinds, 

Who had survived the father, served the son. 

Now the legitimate and rightful lord 

Is but a transient guest, newly arrived, 

And soon to be supplanted. He that saw 

His patrimonial timber cast its leaf 

Sells the last scantling, and transfers the prico 

To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 

Estates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile, 

Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away. 

The country starves, and they that feed the o'crchargeJ 

And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues, 

By a just judgment strip and starve themselves. 

The wings, that waft our riches out of sight, 

Grow on the gamester's elbows ; and the alert 

And nimble motion of those restless joints, 

That never tire, soon fans them all away. 

Improvement too, the idol of the age, 

Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes ! 

The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears ! 

Down falls the venerable pile, the abode 

Of our forefathers — a grave whisker'd race, 

But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, 

But in a distant spot ; where more exposed 

It may enjoy the advantage of the north, 

And aguish east, till time shall have transform'd 

Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. 

He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn : 

Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise ; 

And streams, as if created for his use, 

Pursue the track of his directing wand, 

Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, 

Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades — 

E'en as he bids ! The enraptured owner smiles. 

'Tis finish'd, and yet, finish'd as it seems, 

Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, 

A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. 

Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth, 

He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'dplan, 

That he has touch 'd, retouch'd, many a long day 

Labour'd, and many a night pursued in dreams, 

Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven 

He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ! 



THE GARDEN. l£g 



And now perhaps the glorious hour is come 

When, having no stake left, no pledge to endear 

Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause 

A moment's operation on his love, 

He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal, 

To serve his country. Ministerial grace 

Deals him out money from the public chest ; 

Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse 

Supplies his need with a usurious loan, 

To be refunded duly, when his vote 

"Well managed shall have earn'd its worthy price. 

innocent, compared with arts like these, 

Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball 

Sent through the traveller's temples ! He that finds 

One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, 

Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 

So he may wrap himself in honest rags 

At his last gasp : but could not for a world 

Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 

From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, 

Sordid and sickening at his own success. 

Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd 
By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
Of pleasure and variety, despatch, 
As duly as the swallows disappear, 
The world of wandering knights and squires to town. 
London engulfs them all ! The shark is there, 
And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech 
That sucks him ; there the sycophant, and he 
Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, 
Begs a warm ofiice, doom'd to a cold jail 
And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
Were character'd on every statesman's door, 
" Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended pi ere.' 
These are the charms that sully and eclipse 
The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe 
That lean hard-handed Poverty inflicts, 
The hope of better things, the chance to win, 
The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, 
That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 
Unpeople all our counties of such herds 
Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose, 
And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 

thou, resort and mart of all the earth, 
Chequered with all complexions of mankind, 
And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see 
Much that I love, and more that I admire, 
And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair, 
That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh, 
And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, 
Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee i 
Ten righteous would have saved the city once, 



164 THE TASK. 



And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee — 
That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else, 
And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, 
Than Sodom in her day had power to be, 
For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain. 



BOOK IV.-THE WINTER EVENING. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The post comes in— The newspaper is read— The world contemplated at a distance— 
Address to winter — The rural amusements of a winter evening compared with the 
fashionable ones — Address to evening — A brown study — Fall of snow in the evening 
—The waggoner — A poor family piece— The rural thief— Public houses— The multi- 
tude of them censured — The farmer's daughter : what she was ; what she is — The 
simplicity of country manners almost lost— Causes of the change — Desertion of the 
country by the rich— Neglect of magistrates— The militia principally in fault— The 
new recruit and his transformation— Reflection on bodies corporate— T tie love ol 
rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished. 

Hark ! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, 

That with its wearisome but needful length 

Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 

Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ; — 

He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 

With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks; 

News from all nations lumbering at his back. 

True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, 

Yet, careless what he brings, his one concern 

Is to conduct it to the destined inn, 

And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. 

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 

Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 

Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 

To him. indifferent whether grief or joy. 

Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 

Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 

With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 

Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 

Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains, 

Or nymphs responsive, equally affect • 

His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 

But the important budget ! usher'd in 

With such heart-shaking music, who can say 

What are its tidings] have our troops awaked] 

Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, 

Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave] 

Is India free] and does she wetir her plumed 

And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace, 

Or do we grind her still] The grand debate, 

The popular harangue, the tart reply, 



THE WINTER EVENING. 16a 

The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
I burn to set the iniprison'd wranglers free, 
And give them voice and utterance once again. 
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
Not such his evening, who with shining face 
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed 
And bored with elbow points through both his sides, 
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : 
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, 
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, 
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
This folio of four pages, happy work! 
Which not e'en critics criticise ; that holds 
Inquisitive attention, while I read, 
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break j 
What is it but a map ol busy life, 
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ] 
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge 
That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
The seals of office glitter in his eyes ; 
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them ! At his heele^ 
Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, 
And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, 
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 
Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft 
Meanders, lubricate the course they take; 
The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved 
To engross a moment's notice ; and yet begs, 
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
However trivial all that he conceives. 
Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise ; 
The dearth of information and good sense, 
That it foretells us, always comes to pass. 
Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; 
There forests of no meaning spread the page, 
In which all comprehension wanders lost ; 
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks 
And lilies for the brows of faded age, 
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
Heaven, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets, 
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, 
Sermons, and city feasts, and favourite airs 
JEthereal journeys, submarine exploits, 



166 THE TASK. 



And Katerfelto, with his hair on end 

At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 

"lis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, 
To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height, 
That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
With all its generations ; I behold 
The tumult and am still. The sound of war 
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ; 
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
And avarice that make man a wolf to man ; 
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 
By which he speaks the language of his heart, 
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
He travels and expatiates, as the bee 
From flower to flower, so he from land to land ; 
The manners, customs, policy of all 
Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; 
He sucks intelligence in every clime, 
And spreads the honey of his deep research 
At his return — a rich repast for me. 
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, 
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 
Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; 
While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 

Winter, ruler ef the inverted year, 
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, 
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds^ 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hold'st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet und awning east, 
Shortening his journey between morn and nooiL, 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease, 
And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee king of intimate delights. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 16} 



Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, 

And all the comiorts that the lowly roof 

Of un iisturb'd Retirement, and the hours 

Of long uninterrupted evening know. 

No rattling wheels stop short before these gates : 

No powder'd pert proficient in the art 

Of sounding an alarm assaults these doors 

Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds 

Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, 

The silent circle fan themselves, and quake : 

But here the needle plies its busy task, 

The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower, 

Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, 

Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, 

And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, 

Follow the nimble finger of the fair ; 

A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 

With most success when all besides decay. 

The poet's or historian's page by one 

Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 

The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out ; 

And the clear voice, symphonious, yet distinct, 

And in the charming strife triumphant still, 

Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 

On female industry : the threaded steel 

Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 

The volume closed, the customary rites 

Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal, 

Such as the mistress of the world once found 

Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 

Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, 

And under an old oak's domestic shade, 

Enjoy 'd, spare feast ! a radish and an egg ! 

Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, 

Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 

Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth : 

Nor do we madly, like an impious world, 

Who deem religion frenzy, and the (rod 

That made them an intruder on their joys, 

Start at his awful name, or deem his praiso 

A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone, 

Exciting oft our gratitude and love, 

While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand, 

That calls the past to our exact review, 

The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare. 

The disappointed foe, deliverance found 

Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored^ 

Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 

evenings worthy of the gods ! exclaim'd 

The Sabine bard. evenings, I reply, 

More to be prized and coveted than yours, 

As more illumined, and with nobler truths, 

That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. 



168 THE TASK. 



Is Winter hideous in a garb like this '? 
Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 
The pent-up breath of an unsavoury throng, 
To thaw him into leeling ; or the smart 
And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits 
Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile 1 
The self-complacent actor, when he views 
(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
The slope of faces from the floor to the roof 
(As if one master spring controlTd them all), 
Relaxed into a universal grin, 
Sees not a countenance there that speaks of joy 
Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 
Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
That idleness has ever yet contrived 
To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain, 
To palliate dulness, and give time a shove. 
Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound; 
But the World's Time is Time in masquerade ! 
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged 
With motley plumes ; and, where the peacock shows 
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red 
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, 
And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 
What should be, and what was an hour-glass once, 
Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mace 
Well does the work of his destructive scythe. 
Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom Fashion bli uds 
To his true worth, most pleased when idle most ; 
Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 
E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 
Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school 
Of card-devoted Time, and, night by night 
Placed at some vacant corner of the board, 
Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. 
But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, 
Where shall I find an end, or how proceed 1 
As he that travels far oft turns aside, 
To view some rugged rock or mouldering tower, 
Which seen delights him net ; then, coming home, 
Describes and prints it, that the world may know 
How far he went for what was nothing worth ; 
So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread. 
With colours mix'd for a far different use, 
Paint cards, and dolls, and every idle thing 
That Fancy finds in her excursive flights. 

Come, Evening, once again, season of peace ; 
Eeturn, sweet Evening, and continue long ! 
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 
With matron step slow moving, while the Night 
Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ 'd 



THE WINTER EVENING. J 69 



In letting fall the curtain of repose 
On bird and beast,, the other charged for man 
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 
Not sumptuously adorn'd, not needing aid, 
Like homely featured Night, of clustering gemg; 
A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, 
Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 
With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift : 
And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
To books, to music, or the poet's toil ; 
To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit; 
Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, 
When they command whom man was born to please; 
I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 
Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
From many a mirror, in which he of Gfath, 
Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 
Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, 
My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps 
The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
With faint illumination, that uplifts 
The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 
Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. 
Not undelightful is an hour to me 
So spent in parlour twilight : such a gloom 
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
The mind contemplative, with some new theme 
Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. 
Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers, 
That never felt a stupor, know no pause, 
Nor need one ; I am conscious, and confess, 
Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 
Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild 
Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, 
Trees, churches, and strange visages, expressed 
In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
I gazed, myself creating what I saw. 
Nor less amused, have I quiescent watch'd 
The sooty films that play upon the bars, 
Pendulous and foreboding, in the view 
Of superstition, prophesying still, 
Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach* 
'Tis thus the understanding takes repose 
In indolent vacuity of thought, 
And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face 
Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
Of deep deliberation, as the man 
Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. 



170 THE TASK. 



Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour 
At evening, till at length the freezing blast, 
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
The recollected powers ; and, snapping short 
The glassy threads with which the fancy weaves 
Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
How calm is my recess ; and how the frost, 
Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear 
The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! 
I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
A variegated show ; the meadows green, 
Though faded; and the lands, where lately wared 
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. 
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
"With verdure not unprofitable, grazed 
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each 
His favourite herb ; while all the leafless grovea 
That skirt the horizon, wore a sable hue 
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
To-morrow brings a change, a total change ! 
Which even now, though silently perform'd, 
And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
Of universal nature undergoes. 
Fast falls a fleecy shower : the downy flakes 
Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse, 
Softly alighting upon all below, 
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
Grladly the thickening mantle ; and the green 
And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, 
Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 

In such a world so thorny, and where none 
Finds happiness unblighted ; or, if found, 
Without some thistly sorrow at its side ; 
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
Against the law of love, to measure lots 
With less distinguish'd than ourselves ; that thus 
We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
And sympathise with others suffering more. 
Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
By congregated loads, adhering close 
To the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish pace 
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
While every breath, by respiration strong 
Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth 
Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 



THE WINTEii EVENING 171 



Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 

happy ; and, in. my account, denied 

That sensibility of pain with which 

llefinement is endued, thrice happy thou ! 

Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 

The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 

The learned finger never need explore 

Thy vigorous pulse ; and the unheal thful east, 

That breathes the spleen, and searches every bono 

Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 

Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; 

Thy waggon is thy wife, and the poor beasts, 

That drag the dull companion to and fro, 

Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 

Ah, treat them kindly ! rude as thou appear'st, 

Yet show that thou hast mercy ! which the great, 

"With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, 

Humane as they would seem, not always show. 

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
Such claim compassion in a night like this, 
And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
"Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour all day long, 
They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 
Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear, 
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. 
The few small embers left she nurses well ; 
And, while her infant race, with outspread hands, 
And crowded knees, sit cowering o'er the sparks, 
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
The man feels least, as more inured than she 
To winter, and the current in his veins 
More briskly moved by his severer toil ; 
Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw 
Dangled along at the cold finger's end 
Just when the day declined ; and the brown loaf 
Lodged on the shelf, half eaten without sauce 
Of savoury cheese, or butter, costlier still; 
Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas ! 
"Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, 
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few ! 
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care. 
Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 
Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool, 
Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale. 
They live, and live without extorted alms 
From grudging hands ; but other boast have nono 
To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg, 
Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love.^ 
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair 
For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far 
A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd, 



172 



And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
Of distribution, liberal of their aid 
To clamorous importunity in rags, 
But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blu3h 
To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse, 
"Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : 
These ask with painful shyness, and refused- 
Because deserving, silently retire ! 
But be ye of good courage ! Time itself 
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase ; 
And all your numerous progeny, well train'd. 
But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, 
And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
What, conscious ot your virtues, we can spare, 
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. 
I mean the man who, when the distant poor 
Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 
But poverty with most, who whimper forth 
Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe ; 
The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
For plunder; much solicitous how best 
He may compensate for a day of sloth 
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 
"Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
Plash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes 
Deep in the loamy bank ! Uptorn by strength, 
Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil, 
An ass's burden, and, when laden most 
And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away; 
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
From his nernicious force. Nor will he leave 
UnwrencbM the door, however well secured, 
Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
In unsuspecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perca, 
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 
To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 
And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse, 
Did pity of their sufferings warp aside 
His principle, and tempt him into sin 
For their support, so destitute. But they 
Neglected pine at home; themselves, as more 
Exposed than others, with less scruple made 
His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. 
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 
Of ruinous ebriety that prompts 
His every action, and imorutes the man. 
for a law to noose the villain's neck 
Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 



THE WINTER EVENING. 173 



He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 
And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love ! 

Pass where we may, through city or through town, 
Village, or hamlet, of this merry land, 
Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace 
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff 
Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes 
That law has licensed, as makes temperance reel. 
There sit, involved and lost in curling clouds 
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there 
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ; 
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, 
And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike, 
All learned, and all drunk ! the fiddle screams 
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd 
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard : 
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she, 
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand 
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride ; 
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound, 
The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised 
As ornamental, musical, polite, 
Like those which modern senators employ, 
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame I 
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds, 
Once simple, are initiated in arts, 
Which some may practise with politer grace, 
But none with readier skill ! — 'tis here they learn 
The road that leads from competence and peace 
To indigence and rapine; till at last 
Society, grown weary of the load, 
Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
But censure profits little : vain the attempt 
To advertise in verse a public pest, 
That, like the filth with which the peasant : 
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
The excise is fatten'd with the rich result 
Of all this riot ; and ten thousand casks, 
For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
Touch'd by the j\lidas finger of the state, 
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
Drink, and be mad then ; 'tis your country bids ! 
Gloriously drunk, obey the important call ! 
Her cause demands the assistance of your throat ;— 
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 

Would I had fallen upon those happier days, 
That poets celebrate; those golden times, 
And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, 
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. 
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 



174 



That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems, 

From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves 

The footsteps of Simplicity, impressed 

Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing) 

Then were not all effaced : then speech profane 

And manners profligate were rarely found, 

Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 

Vain wish ! those days were never : airy dreams 

Sat for the picture : and the poet's hand, 

Imparting substance to an empty shade, 

Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 

Grant it : — I still must envy them an age 

That favour'd such a dream ; in days like these 

Impossible, when Virtue -is so scarce, 

That to suppose a scene where she presides, 

Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief, 

No : we are polish'd now ! The rural lass, 

Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 

Her artless manners, and her neat attire, 

So dignified, that she was hardly less 

Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, 

Is seen no more. The character is lost! 

Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft, 

And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised. 

And magnified beyond all human size, 

Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 

For more than half the tresses it sustains ; 

Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form 

111 propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deero'd 

(But that the basket dangling on her arm 

Interprets her more truly) of a rank 

Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs. 

Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, 

No longer blushing for her awkward load, 

Her train and her umbrella all her care ! 

The town has tinged the country; and the stain 
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe, 
The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 
Down into scenes still rural; but, alas! 
Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now' 
Time was when in the pastoral retreat 
The unguarded door was safe; men did not watch 
To invade another's right, or guard their own. 
Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscared 
By drunken ho wrings; and the chilling tale 
Of midnight murder was a wonder heard 
With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
But farewell now to unsuspicious nights, 
And slumbers unalarm'd ! Now, ere you sleep, 
See that your polish'd arms be primed with care 3 
And drop the night bolt ; — ruffians are abroad ; 
And the first 'larum of the cock's shrill throat 
May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 
To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 



THE WINTER EVENING. 17G 



E'en daylight has its dangers ; and the walk 
Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once 
Of other tenants than melodious birds, 
Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 
Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 
Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
The course of human things from good to ill, 
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
Increase of power begets increase of wealth ; 
Wealth luxury, and luxury excess ; 
Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague, 
That seizes first the opulent, descends 
To the next rank contagious, and in time 
Taints downward all the graduated scale 
Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 
The rich, and they that have an arm to check 
The licence of the lowest in degree, 
Desert their ofhce ; and themselves, intent 
On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 
To all the violence of lawless hands 
Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
Authority herself not seldom sleeps, 
Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
The plump convivial parson often bears 
The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
His reverence and his worship both to rest 
On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 
Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 
When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 
Himself enslaved by terror of the band, 
The audacious convict, whom he dares not bind , 
Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, 
He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
Less dainty than becomes his grave outside 
In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
His milk-white hand ; the palm is hardly clean - 
But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
Foh ! 'twas a bribe that left it : he has touch'd 
Corruption ! Whoso seeks an audit here 
Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, 
Wildfowl or venison, and his eirand speeds. 
But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
A noble cause, which none who bears a spark 
Of public virtue, ever wish'd removed, 
Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, 
Seem most at variance with all moral good, 
And incompatible with serious thought. 
The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
Blest with an infant's ignorance of all 
But his own simple pleasures ; now and then 



176 THE TASK. 



A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair ; 
Is balloted, and trembles at tlie news : 
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
A bible-oath to be what e'er they please, 
To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, 
That instant he becomes the Serjeant's care, 
His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, 
Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees 
Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff, 
He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well: 
He stands erect ; his slouch becomes a walk ; 
He steps right onward, martial in his air, 
His form, and movement ; is as smart above 
As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears 
His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace ; 
And, his three years of heroship expired, 
Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 
He hates the field, in which no fife or drum 
Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march ; 
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
'Twere well if his exterior change were all — 
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 
His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
To swear, to game, to drink; to show at home, 
By lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath breach, 
The great proficiency he made abroad ; 
To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends ; 
To break some maiden's and his mother's heart 5 
To be a pest where he was useful once ; 
Are his sole aim, and all his glory now. 

Man in society is like a flower 
Blown in its native bed : 'tis there alone 
His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 
But man, associated and leagued with man 
By regal warrant, or self-join'd by bond 
For interest sake, or swarming into clans 
Beneath one head for purposes of war, 
Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound 
And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, 
Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd, 
Contracts defilement not to be endured. 
Hence charter'd burghs are such public plagues ; 
And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
In all their private functions, once combined. 
Become a loathsome body, only fit 
For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
Against the charities of domestic life, 
Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard 



THE WINTER EVEXIffQ. 171 

For mercy and the common rights of man, 
Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe 
Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
Hence too the field of glory, as the world 
Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 
With all its majesty of thundering pomp, 
Enchanting music and immortal wreaths, 
Is but a school where thoughtlessness is taught 
On principle, where foppery atones 
For folly, gallantry for every vice. 

But slighted as it is, and by the great 
Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret, 
Infected with the manners and the modes 
It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan, 
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, 
But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd 
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
My very dreams were rural ; rural too 
The firstborn efforts of my youthful muse, 
Sportive, and jingling her poetic bells 
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. 
No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned 
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 
Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 
Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang, 
The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. 
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms ; 
New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd 
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
To speak its excellence. I danced for joy. 
I marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age 
As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
Engaged my wonder ; and admiring still, 
And still admiring, with regret supposed 
The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 
There too, enamour'd of the life I loved, 
Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 
Determined, and possessing it at last, 
With transports, such as favour 'd lovers feel, 
I studied, prized, and wish'd that I had known 
Ingenious Cowley ! and, though now reclaim'd 
By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
I still revere thee, courtly though retired ; 
Though stretched at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers*, 
Not unemploy'd ; and finding rich amends 
For a lost world in solitude and verse. 
'Tis born with all : the love of Nature's works 
Is an ingredient in the compound man, 
Infused at the creation of the kind. 



178 



And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout 

Discriminated each from each, by strokes 

And touches of his hand, with so much art 

Diversified, that two were never found 

Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all, 

That all discern a beauty in his works, 

And all can taste them : minds that have been form'd 

And tutor'd, with a relish more exact, 

But none without some relish, none unmoved. 

It is a flame that dies not even there 

Where nothing feeds it : neither business, crowds, 

Nor habits of luxurious city life, 

Whatever else they smother of true worth 

In human bosoms, quench -it or abate. 

The villas with which London stands begirt 

Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads 

Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air, 

The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 

The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! 

E'en in the stifling bosom cf the town 

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms 

That soothe the rich possessor; much consoled, 

That here and there some sprigs of mournful niinfc, 

Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 

He cultivates, These serve him with a hint 

That Nature lives ; that sight-refreshing green 

Is still the livery she delights to wear, 

Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. 

What are the casements lined with creeping herbs, 

The prouder sashes fronted with a range 

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, 

The Frenchman's darling] * are they not all proofs 

That man, immured in cities, still retains 

His inborn inextinguishable thirst 

Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 

By supplemental shifts, the best he may, 

The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, 

And they that never pass their brick -wall bounds, 

To range the fields and treat their lungs with air, 

Yet feel the burning instinct : over head 

Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick, 

And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands, 

A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there ; 

Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 

The country, with what ardour he contrives 

A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease, 
And contemplation, heart- consoling joys, 
And harmless pleasures, in the throned abode 
Of multitudes unknown ! hail, rural life ! 
Address himself who will to the pursuit 
Of honours, or emolument, or fame ; 

* Mignonette. 



THE WINTER HOKNING WALK. 17* 



I shall not add myself to such a chase, 

Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 

Some must be great. Great offices will have 

Great talents. And God gives to every man 

The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 

That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 

Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. 

To the deliverer of an injured land 

He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 

To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs ; 

To monarchs dignity; to judges sense; 

To artists ingenuity and skill ; 

To me an unambitious mind, content 

In the low vale of life, that early felt 

A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 

Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 



BOOK V.— THE WINTEE HORNING WALK, 



THE ARGUMENT. 

k frosty morning— The foddering of cattle — The woodman and his dog — Thd poultry— 
Whimsical effects of frost at a waterfaU — The Empress of Russia's palace of ice — 
Amusements of monarchs — War, one of them — Wars, whence — And whence monar- 
chy—The evils of it — English and French loyalty contrasted — The Bastille, and a 
prisoner there — Liherty the chief recommendation of this country — Modern patriot- 
ism questionable, and why — The perishable nature of the best human institutions — 
Spiritual Uberty not perishable — The slavish state of man by nature — Deliver him, 
Deist, if yoh can — Grace must do it — The respective merits of patriots and martyrs 
stated — Their different treatment — Happy freedom of the man whom grace makes 
free— His reUsh of the works of God — Address to the Creator. 

'Tis morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds, 
That crowd away before the driving wind, 
More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
Resemble most some city in a blaze, 
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue, 
From every herb and every spiry blade 
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense, 
In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
Provokes me to a smile. "With eye askance 
I view the muscular proportion'd limb 
Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair 
As they design'd to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step ; and as I near approach 
The cottage, w r alk along the plaster a w T aJL 



[80 



Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents 
And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 
And' fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man, 
Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft, 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away : no needless care, 
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 
The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe 
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 
And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur, 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide scampering, snatches up the drift en snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout ; 
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. 
Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 
Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught, 
But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 
That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale. 
Where, diligent to catch the first fair gleam 
Of smiling day, they gossipp'd side by side, 
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 
The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing, 
And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, 
Conscious, and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves? 
To seize the fair occasion : well they eye 
The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved 
To escape the impending famine, often scared 
As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 
Bemains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 
To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 181 

His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head 

With well- consider 'd steps, seems to resent 

His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. 

How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 

The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 

Due sustenance, or where subsist they now] 

Earth yields them nought : the imprison'd worm is safe 

Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 

Lie cover'd close; and berry-bearing thorns, 

That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), 

Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 

The long protracted rigour of the year 

Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes 

Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, 

As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 

The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 

"Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now 

Repays their labour more ; and, perch 'd aloft 

By the way-side, or stalking in the path, 

Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track, 

Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, 

Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 

The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, 

O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood, 

Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 

Lies undissolved ; while silently beneath, 

And unperceived, the current steals away. 

Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 

The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, 

And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 

No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force 

Can but arrest the light and smoky mist 

That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 

And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks 

With forms so various, that no powers of art, 

The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 

Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 

(Fantastic misarrangement !) on the roof 

Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees 

And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 

That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd, 

Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 

And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 

Here grotto within grotto safe defies 

The sunbeam ; there, emboss'd and fretted wild-, 

The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 

Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 

The likeness of some object seen before. 

Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, 

And in defiance of her rival powers ; 

By these fortuitous and random strokes 

Performing such inimitable feats 

As she with all her rules can never reach. 

Less worthy of applause though more admired, 



A 82 THE TASK. 



Because a novelty, the work of man, 

Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ! 

Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, 

The wonder of the North. No forest fell 

When thou wouldst build ; no quarry sent its stores 

To enrich thy walls : but thou didst hew the flood.?, 

And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 

In such a palace Aristseus found 

Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 

Of his lost bees to her maternal ear : 

In such a palace Poetry might place 

The armoury of Winter ; where his troops, 

The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet, 

Skin-piercing volley, blossom -bruising hail, 

And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course, 

And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 

Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; 

No sound of hammer or of saw was there. 

Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts 

Were soon conjoint ; nor other cement ask'd 

Than water interfused to make them one. 

Lamps gracefully disposed, and of all hues, 

Illumined every side ; a watery light 

Grleam'd through the clear transparency, that seein'i 

Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen 

From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. 

So stood the brittle prodigy ; though smooth 

And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound 

Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within, 

That royal residence might well befit, 

For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths 

Of flowers, that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 

Blush'd on the panels. Mirror needed none 

Where all was vitreous ; but in order due 

Convivial table and commodious seat 

( What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there ; 

Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. 

The same lubricity was found in all, 

And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene 

Of evanescent glory, once a stream, 

And soon to slide into a stream again. 

Alas ! 'twas but a mortifying stroke 

Of undesign'd severity, that glanced 

(Made by a monarch) on her own estate, 

On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 

'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 

'Twas durable ; as worthless, as it seem'd 

Intrinsically precious ; to the foot 

Treacherous and false ; it smiled, and it was cold. 

Great princes have great playthings. Some have play'd 
At hewing mountains into men, and some 
At building human wonders mountain high. 
Some have amused the dull sad years of life 
(Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad) 



THE WINTER MORNING- WALK. 183 

With schemes of monumental fame; and sought 

By pyramids and mausolean pomp, 

Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones. 

Some seek diversion in the tented field, 

And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 

But war's a game which, were their subjects wise, 

Kings would not play at. Nations would do well 

To extort their truncheons from the puny hands 

Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 

Are gratified with mischief, and who spoil, 

Because men suffer it, their toy, the World. 

When Babel was confounded, and the great 
Confederacy of projectors wild and vain 
Was split into diversity of tongues, 
Then, as a shepherd separates his flock, 
These to the upland, to the valley those, 
God drave asunder, and assign'd their lot 
To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
He gave them, in its distribution fair 
And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. 
Peace was awhile their care : they plough'd, and sow'd, 
And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife, 
But violence can never longer sleep 
Than human passions please. In every heart 
Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
Cain had already shed a brother's blood ; 
The deluge wash'd it out ; but left unquench'd 
The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 
Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
Of his descending progeny was found 
The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 
Contriver, who first sweated at the forge, 
And forced the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 
To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times, 
The sword and falchion their inventor claim ; 
And the first smith was the first murderer's son. 
His art survived the waters ; and ere long, 
When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
These meadows and that range of hills his own, 
The tasted sweets of property begat 
Desire of more : and industry in some, 
To improve and cultivate their just demesne, 
Made others covet what they saw so fair. 
Thus war began on earth ; these fought for spoil, 
And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
The onset, and irregular. At leogth 
One eminent above the rest for strength, 
For stratagem, or courage, or for all, 
Was chosen leader ; him they served in war, 
And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds, 
Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare 1 



184 THE TASK. 



Or who so worthy to control themselves, 

As he, whose prowess had subdued their foes ] 

Thus war, affording field for the display 

Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, 

Which have their exigencies too, and call 

For skill in government, at length made king. 

King was a name too proud for man to wear 

With modesty and meekness ; and the crown, 

So dazzling in their eyes who set it on, 

Was sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. 

It is the abject property of most, 

That, being parcel of the common mass, 

And destitute of means to raise themselves, 

They sink, and settle lower than they need. 

They know not what it is to feel within 

A comprehensive faculty, that grasps 

Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, 

Almost without an effort, plans too vast 

For their conception, which they cannot move. 

Conscious of impotence, they soon grow drunk 

With gazing, when they see an able man 

Step forth to notice ; and, besotted thus, 

Build him a pedestal, and say, " Stand there, 

And be our admiration and our praise." 

They roll themselves before him in the dust, 

Then most deserving in their own account 

When most extravagant in his applause, 

As if exalting him they raised themselves. 

Thus by degrees, self- cheated of their sound 

And sober judgment, that he is but man, 

They demi-deify and fume him so, 

That in due season he forgets it too. 

Inflated and astrut with self-conceit, 

He gulps the windy diet ; and, ere long, 

Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 

The world was made in vain, if not for him. 

Thenceforth they are his cattle : drudges, born 

To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears, 

And sweating in his service, his caprice 

Becomes the soul that animates them all. 

He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives, 

Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 

An easy reckoning ; and they think the same. 

Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 

Were burnish'd into heroes, and became 

The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; 

Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died, 

Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man 

To eminence, fit only for a god, 

Should ever drivel out of human lips, 

E'en in the cradled weakness of the world ! 

Still stranger much, that, when at length mankind 

Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth, 

And could discriminate and argue well 



THE WINTER MORIS IX G WALK. 

On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 

Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 

And quake before the gods themselves had made. 

Bat above measure strange, that neither proof 

Of sad experience, nor examples set 

By some, whose patriot virtue has prevail'd, 

Can even now, when they are grown mature 

In wisdom; and with philosophic deeds 

Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest ! 

Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 

To reverence what is ancient, and can plead 

A course of long observance for its use, 

That even servitude, the worst of ills, 

Because delivered down from sire to son, 

Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing ! 

But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 

Of rational discussion, that a man, 

Compounded and made up like other men 

Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 

And folly in as ample measure meet, 

As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 

Should be a despot absolute, and boast 

Himself the only freeman of his land 1 

Should, when he pleases, and on whom he will, 

"Wage war, with any or with no pretence 

Of provocation given, or wrong sustain'd, 

And force the beggarly last doit, by means 

That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 

Of poverty, that thus he may procure 

His thousands, weary of penurious life, 

A splendid opportunity to die ] 

Say ye, who (with less prudence than c 

Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees 

In politic convention) put your trust 

In the shadow of a bramble, and, reclined 

In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, 

Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway, 

Where find ye passive fortitude? Whence springs 

Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good 

To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 

His thorns with streamers of continual praise] 

We too are friends to loyalty. We love 

The king who loves the law, respects his bounds,. 

And reigns content within them : him we serve ' 

Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : 

But, recollecting still that he is man, 

We trust him not too far. King though he be, 

And king in England too, he may be weak, 

And vain enough to be ambitious still ; 

May exercise amiss his proper powers, 

Or covet more than freemen choose to grant : 

Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 

To administer, to guard, to adorn the state, 

But not to warp or change it. We are his, 



180 THE TASK. 

To serve him nobly in the common sause, 
True to the death, but not to be his slaves. 
Mark now the difference, ye that boast your kvs 
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
We love the man, the paltry pageant you ; 
We the chief patron of the commonwealth, 
You the regardless author of its woes : 
We for the sake of liberty a king, 
You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. 
Our love is principle, and has its root 
In reason, is judicious, manly, free ; 
Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 
And licks the foot that treads it in the dust* 
Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 
Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 
I would not be a king to be beloved 
Causeless, and daub'd with undiscerning praise, 
Where love is mere attachment to the throne, 
Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 

Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will 
Of a superior, he is never free. 
Who lives, and is not weary of a life 
Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. 
The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd, 
And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, 
Deserves at least applause for her attempt, 
And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 
Not often unsuccessful : power usurp'd 
Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 
'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought 
Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
All that the contest calls for ; spirit, strength, 
The scorn of danger, and united hearts ; 
The surest presage of the good they seek.* 

Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
To France than all her losses and defeats, 
Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old . 
Which Grod avenged on Pharaoh — the Bastille. 
Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ; 
Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 
That monarchs have supplied from age to age 
With music, such as suits their sovereign ears, 
The sighs and groans of miserable men ! 
There's not an English heart that would not leap 
To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know 
That e'en our enemies, so oft employ'd 
In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 
For he who values Liberty confines 

* The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessary warmth upon efl 
interesting a subject. He is aware that it is become almost fashionable to stigmatize 
such sentiments as no better than empty declamation ; but it is an ill symrtom, and 
peculiar to modern times. 



THE WINTER MORXIXG WALK. 187 



His zeal for her predominance within 
No narrow bounds; her canse engages him 
Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 
There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 
Immured though unaccused, condemn'd untried, 
Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape! 
There, like the visionary emblem seen 
By him of Babylon, life stands a stump. 
And, filleted about with hoops of brass, 
Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone. 
To count the hour-bell, and expect no change ; 
And ever, as the sullen sound is heard, 
Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note 
To him whose moments all have one dull pace, 
Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 
Account it music ; that it summons some 
To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball : 
The wearied hireling finds it a release 
From labour ; and the lover, who has chid 
Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 
Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight — 
To fly for refuge from distracting thought 
To such amusements as ingenious woe 
Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools — 
To read engraven on the mouldy walls, 
In staggering types, his predecessor's tale 
A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — 
To turn purveyor to an overgorged 
And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest 
Is made familiar, watches his approach, 
Comes at his call, and serves hhn for a friend- 
To wear out time in numbering to and fro 
The studs that thick emboss his iron door ; 
Then downward and then upward, then aslant, 
And then alternate ; with a sickly hope 
By dint of change to give his tasteless task 
Some relish ; till the sum, exactly found 
In all directions, he begins again ; — 
Oh comfortless existence ! hemm'd around 
With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel 
And beg for exile, or the pangs of death ] 
That man should thus encroach on fellow-man, 
Abridge him of his just and native rights, 
Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 
Upon the endearments of domestic life 
And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, 
And doom him for perhaps a heedless word 
To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. 
Moves indignation, makes the name of king 
(Of king whom such prerogative can please) 
As dreadful as the Manichean god, 
Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; 



138 



And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 

Except what wisdom lays on evil men, 

Is evil ; hurts the faculties, impedes 

Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 

The eyesight of Discovery ; and begets, 

In those that suffer it, a sordid mind 

Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 

To be the tenant of man's noble form. 

Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art, 

With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed 

By public exigence, till annual food 

Fails for the craving hunger of the state, 

Thee I account still happy, and the chief 

Among the nations, seeing thou art free : 

My native nook of earth. ! Thy clime is rude, 

Replete with vapours, and disposes much 

All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine t 

Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 

And plausible than social life requires, 

And thou hast need of discipline and art 

To give thee what politer France receives 

From nature's bounty — that humane address 

And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 

In converse, either starved by cold reserve, 

Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless "brawl. 

Yet being free, I love thee : for the sake 

Of that one feature can be well content, 

Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 

To seek no sublunary rest beside. 

But once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 

Chains nowhere patiently ; and chains at home, 

Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 

Then what were left of roughness in the grain 

Of British natures, wanting its excuse 

That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 

And shock me. I should then with double pain 

Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; 

And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, 

For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 

I would at least bewail it under skies 

Milder, among a people less austere ; 

In scenes which, having never known me free, 

Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 

Do I forebode impossible events, 

And tremble at vain dreams ? Heaven grant I may ! 

But the age of virtuous politics is past, 

And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 

Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 

And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 

Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 

Design'd by loud declaim ers on the part 

Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, 

Incurs derision for his easy faith 

And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough ; 



THE WINTER MOUSING WALK. 189 



For when was public virtue to be found 
Where private was not 1 Can he love the whole 
Who loves no part 1 He be a nation's friend 
Who is, in truth, the friend of no man there ? 
Can he be strenuous in his country's cause 
Who slights the charities for whose dear sake 
That country, if at all, must be beloved 1 

'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad 
For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 
And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts 
So loose to private duty, that no brain, 
Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 
Can dream them trusty to the general weal. 
Such were not they of old, whose temper'd blades 
Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd control, 
And hew'd them link from link ; then Albion's sona 
Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart 
Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs ; 
And, shining each in his domestic sphere, 
Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 
'Tis therefore many, whose sequester 'd lot 
Forbids their interference, looking on, 
Anticipate perforce some dire event ; 
And, seeing the old castle of the state, 
That promised once more firmness, so assail d 
That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, 
Stand motionless expectants of its fall. 
All has its date below ; the fatal hour 
Was register'd in heaven ere time began. 
We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
Die too : the deep foundations that we lay, 
Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
We build with what we deem eternal rock : 
A distant age asks where the fabric stood ; 
And in the dust, sifted and searched in vain, 
The undiscoverable secret sleeps. 

But there is yet a liberty, unsung 
By poets, and by senators unpraised, 
Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers 
Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
A liberty which persecution, fraud, 
Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind : 
Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven, 
Bought with His blood who gave it to mankind, 
And sealed with the same token. It is held 
By charter, and that charter sanctioned sure 
By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
And promise of a God. His other gifts 
All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, 
And are august; but this transcends them all. 
His other works, the visible display 
Of all-creatmg energy and might, 
Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 



190 THE TASK. 



That, finding an interminable space 
Unoccupied, has filFd the void so well, 
And made so sparkling what was dark before, 
But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 
Might well suppose the Artificer divine 
Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, 
And, still designing a more glorious far, 
Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise 
These, therefore, are occasional, and pass ; 
Form'd for the confutation of the fool, 
Whose lying heart disputes against a Gfod ; 
That office served, they must be swept away.. 
Not so the labours of his love : they shine 
In other heavens than these that we behold, 
And fade not. There is paradise that fears 
No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
Of these the first in order, and the pledge 
And confident assurance of the rest, 
Is liberty : a flight into his arms, 
Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, 
A clear escape from tyrannizing lust, 
And full immunity from penal woe. 

Chains are the portion of revolted man, 
Stripes, and a dungeon ; and his body serves 
The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, 
Opprobrious residence he finds them all. 
Prepense his heart to idols, he is held 
In silly dotage on created things, 
Careless of their Creator. And that low 
And sordid gravitation of his powers 
To a vile clod so draws him, with such force 
Resistless from the centre he should seek, 
That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink, 
To reach a depth profound er still, and still 
Profounder, in the fathomless abyss 
Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 
But, ere he gain the comfortless repose 
He seeks, and aquiescence of his soul, 
In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — 
What does he not, from lusts opposed in vain, 
And self-reproaching conscience 1 He foresees 
The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, 
Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all 
That can ennoble man, and make frail life, 
Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, 
Far worse than all the plagues, with which his sins 
Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes 
Ages of hopeless misery. Future death, 
And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, 
Like that which sends him to the dusty grave : 



IflE WINTER MORNING WALK. 191 

But unrepealable enduring death. 

Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : 

What none can prove a forgery may be true; 

What none but bad men wish exploded must. 

That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud 

Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst 

Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; 

And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 

Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 

Falls first before his resolute rebuke, 

And seems dethroned and vanquish'd. Peace ensues, 

But spurious and short-lived; the puny child 

Of self-congratulating pride, begot 

On fancied innocence. Again he falls, 

And fights again ; but finds his best essay 

A presage ominous, portending still 

Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 

Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 

So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 

Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 

Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause 

Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd ; 

With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 

And tatter'd in the sendee of debauch, 

Covering his shame from his offended sight. 

" Hath God indeed given appetites to man, 
And stored the earth so plenteously with means 
To gratify the hunger of his wish ; 
And doth he reprobate, and will he damn 
The use of his own bounty ] making first 
So frail a kind, and then nacting laws 
So strict, that less than perfect must despair 1 
Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth 
Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 
Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 
■\Fhe teacher's office, and dispense at large 
Their weekly dole of edifying strains, 
Attend to their own music 1 have they faith 
In what, with such solemnity of tone 
And gesture, they propound to our belief] 
Nay — conduct hath the loudest tongue. The vcice 
Is but an instrument, on which the priest 
May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, 
The unequivocal, authentic deed, 
We find sound argument, we read the heart." 

Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong 
To excuses in which reason has no part) 
Serve to compose a spirit well inclined 
To live on terms of amity with vice, 
And sin without disturbance. Often urged 
(As often as libidinous discourse 
Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
Of theological and grave import), 
They gain at last his unreserved assent • 



192 



Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge 

Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 

He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing movea 

Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; 

Vain tampering has but foster'd his disease ; 

'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 

Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. 

Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 

Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth 

How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, 

Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 

Directly to the first and only fair. 

Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers 

Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise : 

Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 

And with poetic trappings grace thy prose, 

Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. — 

Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high-sounding brass, 

Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 

The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, 

And chills and darkens a wide wandering soul. 

The still small voice is wanted. He must speak; 

Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect ; 

Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 

Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change 
That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
And stately tone of moralists, who boast, 
As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
They had indeed ability to smooth 
The shag of savage nature, and were each. 
An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song. 
But transformation of apostate man 
From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, 
Is work for Him that made him. He alono, 
And He by means in philosophic eyes 
Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
The wonder ; humanizing what is brute 
In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
Of asps their venom, overpowering strength 
By weakness, and hostility by love. 

Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause 
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, 
Receive proud recompence. We give in charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic mus©. 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust : 
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, 
To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's bloody 
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed^ 
And for a time ensure to his loved land, 
Ths sweets of liberty and equal laws; 



THE WINTER HORNING WALK. 193 

But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, 

And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 

In confirmation of the noblest claim — 

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 

To walk with God, to be divinely free, . 

To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown 

Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 

And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew 

— No marble tells us whither. "With their names 

No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : 

And history, so warm on meaner themes, 

Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 

The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, 

But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.* 

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, 
Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature, and, though poor perhaps, compared 
With those whose mansions glittter in his sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
His are the mountains, and the valleys his. 
And all the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy 
With a propriety that none can feel, 
But who, with filial confidence inspired, 
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
And smiling say — " My Father made them all!" 
Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
And by an emphasis of interest his, 
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world 
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ] 
Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find, 
In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A liberty like his who, unimpeaeh'd 
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 
Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 
And has a richer use of yours than you. 
He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
f no mean city ; plann'd or e'er the hills 
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea 
With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
His freedom is the same in every state ; 
And no^ condition of this changeful life, 
So manifold in cares, whose every day 

* See Hum6. 



194 THE TASK. 



Brings its own evil with it, makes it less ; 
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, 
Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
His body bound ; but knows not what a range 
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain ; 
And that to bind him is a vain attempt, 
Whom Gfod delights in, and in whom he dwells. 

Acquaint thyself with Gfod, if thou wouldst taste 
His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before ; 
Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart, 
Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight 
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone., 
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, 
Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
JBeneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
From inland regions to the distant main. 
Man views it, and admires ; but rests content 
With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
But not its Author. Unconcern'd who form'd 
The paradise he sees, he finds it such, 
And, such well pleased to find it- asks no more. 
Not so the mind that has been toueh'd from Heaveu, 
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, 
Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
Not for its own sake merely, but for his 
Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise ; 
Praise that, from earth resulting, as it ought, 
To earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once 
Its only just proprietor in Him. 
The soul that sees him or receives sublimed 
New faculties, or learns at least to employ 
More worthily the powers she own'd before, 
Discerns in all things what, with stupid gais 
Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, 
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
The unambiguous footsteps of the Gfod, 
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 
With those fair ministers of light to man, 
That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, 
Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they 
With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
To gratulate the new-created earth, 
Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of Gfod 
Shouted for joy. — " Tell me, ye shining hosts, 
That navigate a sea that knows no storms, 



THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 1^5 



Beneath a vault unsullied with a cio ad, 

If from your elevation, whence ye view 

Distinctly scenes invisible to man. 

And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 

Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race 

Favour'd as ours ; transgressors from the womb, 

And hasting to a grave, yet dooni'd to rise. 

And to possess a brighter heaven than yours ] 

As one who long detain'd on foreign shores 

Pants to return, and when he sees afar 

His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks. 

From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 

Radiant with joy towards the happy land ; 

So I with animated hopes behold, 

And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, 

That show like beacons in the blue abyss, 

Ordain'd to guide the embodied spirit home 

From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 

Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 

That give assurance of their own success, 

And that, infused from Heaven, must thither tend. * 

So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth 
Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
"Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost, 
"With intellects bemazed in endless doubt, 
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built, 
"With means that were not till by thee employ'd, 
Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength 
Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power 
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
That hear not, or receive not their report. . 
In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 
Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine 
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, 
And with the boon gives talent for its use. 
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
Possess the heart, and fables false as hell, 
Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, 
The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, 
Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
But chance is not ; or is not where thou reign'st ; 
Thy providence forbids that fickle power 
(If power she be that works but to confound) 
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 
Gods such as guilt makes welcome ; gods that sleep* 
Or disregard our follies, or that sit 



196 



Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 
Thee we reject, unable to abide 
Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure ; 
Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, 
For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 
Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, 
Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven 
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 
A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not, 
Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song, 
A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; 
Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, 
And adds his rapture to the general praise. 
In that blest moment Nature, throwing wide 
Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
The Author of her beauties, who, retired 
Behind his own creation, works unseen 
By the impure, and hears his power denied. 
Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 
Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 
From thee departing they are lost, and rove 
At random without honour, hope, or peace. 
From thee is all that soothes the life of man, 
His high endeavour, and his glad success, 
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
But, thou bounteous Giver of all good, 
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 
Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; 
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 



BOOK VI— THE WINTER WALK AT NOOK 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Bells at a distance— Their effect — A fine noon in winter— A sheltered walk— Meditation 
better than hooks— Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear lesa 
wonderful than it is — The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described 
— A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected — God maintains it by an un- 
remitted act — The amusements fashionable at this 'hour of the day reproved — Ani 
mals happy, a delightful sight— Origin of cruelty to animals — That it is 3 great crime 
proved from Scripture — That proof illustrated by a tale— A line drawn between the 
lawful and unlawful destruction of them — Their good and useful properties insisted 
on — Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals — Instances of 
man's extravagant praise of man — The groans of the creation shall have an end— A. 
view taken of the restoration of all things — An invocation and an invitation of Him 
who shall bring it to pass— The retired man vindicated from, tte charge of usslessnesa 
—Conclusion. 

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; 
And as the mind is pitciYd the ear is pleased 
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave : 
Some chord in unison with what we hear 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 19? 



Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. 

How soft the nmsic of those village bells, 

Falling at intervals upon the ear 

In cadence sweet, now dying all away, 

Now pealing loud again, and louder still, 

Clear and sonorous, as the gale conies on ! 

With easy force it opens all the cells 

Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard 

A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 

And with it all its pleasures and its pains. 

Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 

That in a few short moments I retrace 

(As in a map the voyager his course) 

The windings of my way through many years. 

Short as in retrospect the journey seems, 

It seem'd not always short; the rugged path, 

And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, 

Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. 

Yet, feeling present evils, while the past 

Faintly impress the mind, or not at all, 

How readily we wish time spent revoked, 

That we might try the ground again, where once 

(Through inexperience, as we now perceive) 

We miss'd that happiness we might have found ! 

Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend, 

A father, whose authority, in show 

When most severe, and mustering all its force, 

Was but the graver countenance of love : 

Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower, 

And utter now and then an awful voice, 

But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 

Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. 

We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand 

That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allured 

By every gilded folly, we renounced 

His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent 

That converse, which we now in vain regret. 

How gladly would the man recall to life 

The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too, 

That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, 

Might he demand them at the gates of death. 

Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed 

The playful humour ; he could now endure 

(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears) 

And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 

But not to understand a treasure's worth 

Till time has stolen away the slighted good, 

Is cause of half the poverty we feel, 

And makes the world the wilderness it is. 

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss, 

And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold, 

Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 

The night was winter in its roughest mood; 
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 



198 THE TASK. 



Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 
A nd where the woods fence off the northern blast, 
The season smiles, resigniDg all its rage, 
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
The^ dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; 
And through the trees I view the embattled tower 
Whence all the music. I again perceive 
The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
And settle in soft musings as I tread 
The walk, still verdant under oaks and elms, 
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
The roof, though moveable through all its length 
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed, 
And, intercepting in their silent fall 
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd ; 
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 
From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
From many a twig the pendant drops of ice, 
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, 
Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
May think down hours to moments. Here the heart- 
May give a useful lesson to the head, 
And Learning wiser grow without his books. 
Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, 
Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 
Till smoothed and squared, and fitted to its place, 
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much ; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
Books are not seldom talismans and spells, 
By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 
Some to the fascination of a name 
Surrender judgment hoodwink'd. Some the style 
Infatuates, and through labyrinth and wilds 
Of error leads them, by a tune entranced. 
While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
The insupportable fatigue of thought, 
And swallowing therefore without pause or choice 
The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
But trees, and rivulets whose rapid course 
Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 
And sheepwalks populous with bleating lambs, 
And lanes in which the primrose ere her time 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 199 

Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn toot, 

Deceive no student. "Wisdom there, and truth, 

Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 

By slow solicitation, seize at once 

The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 

What prodigies can power divine perform 
More grand than it produces year by year, 
And all in sight of inattentive man? 
Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause, 
And, in the constancy of nature's course, 
The regular return of genial months, 
And renovation of a faded world, 
See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 
As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
Of the undeviating and punctual sun, 
How would the world admire ! but speaks it less 
An agency divine to make him know 
His moment when to sink and when to rise, 
Age after age, than to arrest his course] 
All we behold is miracle ; but, seen 
So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
"Where now the vital energy that moved, 
While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 
Through the imperceptible meandering veins 
Of leaf and flower ] It sleeps ; and the icy touch 
Of unprolific winter has impress'd 
A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
But let the months go round, a few short months, 
And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, 
Barren as lances, among which the wind 
Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 
Shall put their graceful foliage on again, 
And, more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 
Shall boast new charms, and more than they hare lost. 
Then each, in its peculiar honours clad, 
Shall publish, even to the distant eye, 
Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; 
The scentless and the scented rose ; this red, 
And of an humbler growth, the other* tall, 
And throwing up into the darkest gloom 
Of neighbouring cvpress, or more sable yew, 
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf 
That the wind severs from the broken wave ; 
The lilac, various in array, now white, 
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
"With purple spikes pyramidal, as if, 
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved 
Which hue she "most approved, she chose them all % 
Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, 
But well compensating her sickly looks 
With never-cloying odours, early and late; 

* The Guelder Hose. 



200 THE TASK, 



Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 

Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, 

That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon too, 

Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset 

With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; 

Althaea with the purple eye ; the broom, 

Yellow and bright as bullion unalloy'd, 

Her blossoms; and luxuriant above all 

The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 

The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf 

Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 

The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. — 

These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 

And all this uniform, uncolour'd scene 

Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, 

And flush into variety again. 

From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, 

Is Nature's progress, 'when she lectures man 

In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes 

The grand transition, that there lives and works 

A soul in all things, and that soul is Grod. 

The beauties of the wilderness are his, 

That makes so gay the solitary place, 

Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, 

That cultivation glories in, are his. 

He sets the bright procession on its way, 

And marshals all the order of the year ; 

He marks the bounds which Winter may not pasy, 

And blunts his pointed fury; in its case, 

Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 

Uninjured, with inimitable art ; 

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 

Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 

Some say that, in the origin of things, 
When all creation started into birth, 
The infant elements received a law, 
From which they swerve not since ; that under force 
Of that controlling ordinance they move, 
And need not His immediate hand, who first 
Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. 
Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 
The incumbrance of his own concerns, and sparc- 
The great Artificer of all that moves 
The stress of a continual act, the pain 
Of unremitted vigilance and care, 
As too laborious and severe a task. 
So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, 
To span omnipotence, and measure might, 
That knows no measure, by the scanty rule 
And standard of his own, that is to-day, 
And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 
But how should matter occupy a charge, 
Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
So vast in its demands^, unless impell'd 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 201 



To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, 

And under pressure of some conscious cause 1 

The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, 

Sustains and is the life of all that lives. 

Nature is but a name for an effect, 

Whose cause is Glod. He feeds the secret fire, 

By which the mighty process is maintain'd, 

Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight 

Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 

Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 

No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; 

And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 

Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, 

With self-taught rites, and under various names, 

Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 

And Flora, and Yertumnus ; peopling earth 

With tutelary goddesses and gods 

That were not ; and commending as they would 

To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 

But all are under one. One spirit, His 

Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, 

Rules universal nature. Not a flower 

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, 

Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 

Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, 

And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, 

In grains as countless as the seaside sands, 

The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 

Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 

Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, 

Or what he views of beautiful or grand 

In nature, from the broad majestic oak 

To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, 

Prompts with remembrance of a present Grod. 

His presence, who made all so fair, perceived 

Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 

Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 

Though winter had been none, had man been true, 

And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, 

Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky, 

So soon succeeding such an angry night, 

And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 

Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. 

Who then, that has a mind well strung and tuned 
To contemplation, and within his reach 
A scene so friendly to his favourite task, 
Would waste attention at the chequer d board, 
His host of wooden warriors to and fro 
Marching and countermarching, with an eye 
As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridged 
And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand 
Trembling, as if eternity were hung 
In balance on his conduct of a pin 1 
Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, 



202 



Who pant with application misapplied 

To trivial joys, and pushing ivory balls 

Across a velvet level, feel a joy 

Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 

Its destined goal of difficult access. 

Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 

To miss, the mercer's plague, from shop to shop 

Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks 

The polish'd counter, and approving none, 

Or promising with smiles to call again. 

Nor him who, by his vanity seduced, 

And soothed into a dream that he discerns 

The difference of a Gfuido from a daub, 

Frequents the crowded auction : station'd there 

As duly as the Langford of the show, 

With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, 

And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant 

And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease : 

Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, 

He notes it in his book, then raps his box, 

Swears "'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate 

That he has let it pass — but never bids. 

Here unmolested, through whatever sign 
The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, 
Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, 
Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. 
E'en in the spring and playtime of the year, 
That calls the unwonted villager abroad 
With all her little ones, a sportive train, 
To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, 
And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, 
These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, 
Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, 
Scarce shuns me ; and the stockdove unalarm'd 
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends 
His long love-ditty for my near approach. 
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm, 
That age or injury has hollo w'd deep, 
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, 
He has out-slept the winter, ventures forth 
To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, 
The squirrel, flippant, pert., and full of play : 
He sees me, and at once, swift as a -bird, 
Ascends the neighbouring beech ; there whisks his brush, 
And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud, 
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, 
And anger insignificantly fierce. 

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
For human fellowship, as being void 
Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 
With sight of animals enjoying life, 
Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 203 

The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade 

When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, 

And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; 

The horse as wanton and almost as fleet, 

That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, 

Then stops and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, 

Starts to the voluntary race again ; 

The very kine that gambol at high noon, 

The total herd receiving first from one 

That leads the dance a summons to be gay, 

Though wild their strange vagaries and uncoutli 

Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent 

To give such act and utterance as they may 

To ecstacy too big to be suppress'd ; — 

These, and a thousand images of bliss, 

With which kind Nature graces every scene, 

Where cruel man defeats not her design, 

Impart to the benevolent, who wish 

All that are capable of pleasure pleased, 

A far superior happiness to theirs, 

The comfort of a reasonable joy. 

Man scarce had risen, obedient to His call 
Who form'd him from the dust, his future grave, 
When he was crown'd as never king was since. 
God set the diadem upon his head, 
And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood 
The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd, 
All happy, and all perfect in their kind, 
The creatures, summon'd from their various haunts 
To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. 
Vast was his empire, absolute his power, 
Or bounded only by a law, whose force 
'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
And own, the law of universal love. 
He ruled with meekness, they obey'd with joy ; 
No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart, 
And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, 
Where kindness on his part, who ruled the whole, 
Begat a tranquil confidence in all, 
And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear, 
But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man, 
That source of evils not exhausted yet, 
Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 
Garden of God, how terrible the change 
Thy groves and lawns then witness'd ! Every heart, 
Each animal, of every name, conceived 
A jealousy and an instinctive fear, 
And, conscious of some danger, either fled 
Precipitate the loathed abode of man, 
Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort, 
As taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
Thus harmony and family accord 
Were driven from Paradise ; and in that hour 



204 



THE TASK. 



The seeds of cruelty, that since have swelTd 
To such gigantic and enormous growth, 
Were so\s n in human nature's fruitful soil. 
Hence date the persecution and the pain 
That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, 
Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, 
To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
And just in his account, why bird and beast 
Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed 
With blood of their inhabitants impaled. 
Earth groans beneath the burden of a war 
Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, 
Not satisfied to prey on all around, 
Adds tenfold bitterness to -death by pang3 
Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
Now happiest they that occupy the scenes 
The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, 
Whom once, as delegate of Gfod on earth, 
They fear'd, and as his perfect image loved. 
The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves, 
Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, 
Unvisited by man. There they are free, 
And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroll'd ; 
Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 
Woe to the tyrant, if he dare intrude 
Within the confines of their wild domain ! 
The lion tells him — I am monarch here ! 
And, if he spare him, spares him on the terms 
Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn 
To rend a victim trembling at his foot. 
In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, 
Or by necessity constraint, they live 
Dependent upon man ; those in his fields, 
These at his crib, and some beneath his roof ; 
They prove too often at how dear a rate 
He sells protection. Witness at his foot 
The spaniel dying for some venial fault, 
Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; 
Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 
Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, 
To madness ; while the savage at his heels 
Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury, spent 
Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
He too is witness, noblest of the train 
That wait on man, the flight-performing horse 
With unsuspecting readiness he takes 
His murderer on his back, and, push'd all day. 
With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for fife. 
To the far-distant goal, arrives and dies. 
So little mercy shows who needs so much ! 
Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 
Denounce no doom on the delinquent ? None. 
He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 






THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 20c 

(As if barbarity were high desert) 
The inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise 
Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose 
The honours of his matchless horse his own. 
But many a crime deem'd innocent on earth 
Is register'd in heaven ; and these no doubt 
Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 
Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, 
But Grod will never. When he charged the Jew 
To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; 
And when the bush- exploring boy that seized 
The young, to let the parent bird go free; 
Proved he not plainly that his meaner works 
Are yet his care, and have an interest all, 
All, in the universal Father's love] 
On Noah, and in him on all mankind, 
The charter was conferr'd, by which we hold 
The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
O'er all we feed on power of life and death. 
But read the instrument, and mark it well : 
The oppression of a tyrannous control 
Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield 
Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, 
Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! 

The Governor of all, himself to all 
So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 
The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp 
Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed, 
Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite 
The injurious trampler upon Nature's law, 
That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart ; 
And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 
The blameless animal, without rebuke, 
On which he rode. Her opportune offence 
Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
He sees that human equity is slack 
To interfere, though in so just a cause ; 
And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb 
And helpless victims with a sense so keen 
Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength; 
And such sagacity to take revenge, 
That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 
An ancient, not a legendary tale, 
By one of sound intelligence rehearsed 
(If such who plead for Providence may seem 
In modern eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. 

Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun, 
Narrow and long, o'er looks the western wave, 
Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he 
Of (jod and goodness, atheist in ostent, 
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. 
He journey'd ; and his chance was as he went 



206 THE TASK. 

To join a traveller, of far different note, 

Evander, famed for piety, for years 

Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 

Fame had not left the venerable man 

A stranger to the manners of the youth, 

Whose face too was familiar to his view. 

Their way was on the margin of the land, 

O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 

Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 

The charity that warm'd his heart was moved 

At sight of the man monster. With a smile, 

Gentle and affable, and full of grace, 

As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 

Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 

Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd, 

But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. 

" And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man 

Exclaimed, " that me the lullabies of age, 

And fantasies of dotards such as thou, 

Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me 1 

Mark no w the proof I give thee, that the bravo 

Need no such aids as superstition lends, 

To steel their hearts against the dread of death. ■* 

He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 

Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 

And th(? blood thrills and curdles at the thought 

Of such a gulf as he designed his grave. 

But the ugh the felon on his back could dare 

The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed 

Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, 

Or e'er his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, 

Baffled his rider, saved against his will. 

The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 

By medicine well applied, but without grace 

The heart's insanity admits no cure. 

Enraged the more by what might have reformed 

His horrible intent, again he sought 

Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd, 

With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. 

But still in vain. The Providence, that meant 

A longer date to the far nobler beast, 

Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake. 

And now his prowess proved, and his sincere 

Incurable obduracy evinced, 

His rage grew cool ; and pleased perhaps to have eftrn'fl 

So cheaply the renown of that attempt, 

With looks of some complacence he resumed 

His road, deriding much the blank amaze 

Of good Evander, still where he was left 

Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. 

So on they fared. Discourse on other themes 

Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past ; 

And tamer far for so much fury shown 

(As in the course of rash and fiery men), 



THE WINTER WALE AT KOOff. 207 



The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd. 

But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, 

An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 

The impious challenger of power divine 

Was now to learn that Heaven, though slow to wrath, 

Is never with impunity defied. 

His horse, as he had caught his master's mood. 

Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 

Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, 

Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood. 

At once the shock unseated him : he flew 

Sheer o'er the craggy barrier ; and, immersed 

Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 

The death he had deserved, and died alone. 

So Grod wrought double justice; made the fool 

The "victim of his own tremendous choice, 

And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 

I would not enter on my list of Mends 
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense, 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
That crawls at evening in the public path : 
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes. 
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
The chamber, or refectory, may die : 
A necessary act incurs no blame. 
Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 
And guiltless of offence, they range the air, 
Or take their pastime in the spacious field : 
There they are privileged; and he that hunts 
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, 
Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode 
The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, 
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meanest things that are 
As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 
As Grod was free to form them at the first, 
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 
Ye therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
To love it too. The spring-time of our years 
Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most 
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shonts, 
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 
Mercy to him that shows it is the rule 
And righteous limitation of its act, 



208 THE TASK. 



By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 
And he that shows none, being ripe in years, 
And conscious of the outrage he commits, 
Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 

Distinguished much by reason, and still more 
By our capacity of grace divine, 
From creatures that exist but for our sake, 
"Which, having served us, perish, we are held 
Accountable ; and Grod, some future day, 
Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
Superior as we are, they yet depend 
Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
Their strength, or speed,, or vigilance, were given 
In aid of our defects. In some are found 
Such teachable and apprehensive parts, 
That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theira 
Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind. 
Some show that nice sagacity of smell, 
And read with such discernment, in the port 
And figure of the man, his secret aim, 
That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
To quadruped instructors, many a good 
And useful quality, and virtue, too, 
Rarely exemplified among ourselves — 
Attachment never to be wean'd or changed 
By any change of fortune; proof alike 
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; 
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 
And trivial favours, lasting as the life 
And glistening even in the dying eye. 

Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
Wins public honour ; and ten thousand sit 
Patiently present at a sacred song, 
Commemoration-mad ; content to hear 
(0 wonderful effect of music's power!) 
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. 
But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve 
(For was it less, what heathen would have dared 
To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, 
And hang it up in honour of a man ]) — 
Much less might serve, when all that we design 
Is but to gratify an itching ear, 
And give the day to a musician's praise. 
Remember Handel ] Who, that was not born 
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, 
Or can, the more than Homer of his age] 
Yes — we remember him ; and while we praise 
A talent so divine, remember too 
That His most holy book, from whom it came, 





--"-._-..■--■ 

- 

: 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 20¥ 

Was never meant, was never used before, 

To buckram out the memory of a man. 

But hush ! — the muse perhaps is too severe ; 

And, with a gravity beyond the size 

And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 

Less impious than absurd, and owing more 

To want of judgment than to wrong design. 

So in the chapel of old Ely House, 

"When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, 

The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, 

And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, 

Sung to the praise and glory of King George ! 

— Man praises man ; and Gfarrick's memory next, 

When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 

The idol of our worship while he lived 

The god of our idolatry once more, 

Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 

In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 

The theatre, too small, shall suffocate 

Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits 

Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 

Ungratified : for there some noble lord 

Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's bunch, 

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 

And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, 

To show the world how Grarrick did not act — 

For Grarrick was a worshipper himself ; 

He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites 

And solemn ceremonial of the day, 

And call'd the world to worship on the banks 

Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof 

That piety has still in human hearts 

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 

The mulberry- tree was hung with blooming wreaths; 

The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; 

The mulberry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs ; 

And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree 

Supplied such relics as devotion holds 

Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 

So 'twas a hallow'd time : decorum reign'd, 

And mirth without offence. No few retnrn'd, 

Doubtless much edified, and all refresh 'd. 

— Man praises man. The rabble, all alive, 

From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, 

Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 

A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 

Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, 

To gaze in his eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 

Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy ; 

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 

The gilded equipage, and turning loose 

His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 

Why ] what has charm'd them ] Hath he saved the state? 



210 THE TASK. 



No. Doth he purpose its salvation ] No. 

Enchan/ing novelty, that moon at full, 

That finds out every crevice of the head 

That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs 

Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is necvr, 

And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 

Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, 

And dedicate a tribute, in its use 

And just direction sacred, to a thing 

Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. 

Encomium in old time was poets' work ! 

But poets, having lavishly long since 

Exhausted all materials of the art, 

The task now falls into the public hand ; 

And I, contented with an humble theme, 

Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down 

The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds 

Among her lovely works with a secure 

And unambitious course, reflecting clear, 

If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. 

And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 

Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 

May stand between an animal and woe, 

And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 

The groans of Nature in this nether world, 
Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. 
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, 
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, 
The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. 
Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh 
Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course 
Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
Of this tempestuous state of human things 
Is merely as the working of a sea 
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : 
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
The dust that waits upon his sultry march, ? 
When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot, 
Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend 
Propitious in his chariot paved with love ; 
And what his storms have blasted and defaced 
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 

Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch : 
Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
But when a poet, or when one like me, 
Happy to rove among poetic flowers, 
Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, 
Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, 
To give it praise proportion'd to its worth. 
That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
The labour, were a task more arduous still. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 21) 

scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 
Scenes of accomplished bliss ! which who can see, 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy 1 
Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
Of barrenness is past, The fruitful field 
Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean, 
Or fertile only in its own disgrace, 
Exults to see its thistly curse repealed. 
The various seasons woven into one, 
And that one season an eternal spring, 
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
For there is none to covet, all are full. 
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear 
Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
Together, or all gambol in the shade 
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
Lurks in the serpent now : the mother sees, 
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
Stretch 'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
One Lord, one FatL er. Error has no place \ 
That creeping pestilence is driven aw r ay ; 
The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart 
No passion touches a discordant string, 
But all is harmony and love. Disease 
Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 
One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
" Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us! " 
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; 
Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
Earth rolls the rapturous Hosannah rouni 
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd ; 
See Salem built, the labour of a Grod; 
Bright as a sun, the sacred city shines ; 
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy, 
And endless her increase. Thy rams are the?£ s 
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there ; * 
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
Praise is in all her gates : upon her walls, 
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, 

* Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Iihmael, and progenitors of the Arabs, in the pro- 
phetic Scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably considered a? representatives ol 
the Gentiles at large. 



212 THE TASK. 



Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 
Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 
And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, 
And worships. Her report has travell'd forth 
Into all lands. From every clime they come 
To see thy beauty and to share thy joy, 
Sion ! an assembly such as earth 
Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. 

Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were onco 
Perfect, and all must be at length restored. 
So Glod has greatly purposed ; who would else 
In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
Haste, then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, 
Ye slow-revolving seasons \ we would see 
(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 
A world that does not dread and hate his law 
And suffer for its crime ; would learn how fair 
The creature is that (rod pronounces good, 
How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
Here every drop of honey hides a sting ; 
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers ; 
And e'en the joy that haply some poor heart 
Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, 
Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
From touch of human lips, at best impure. 
for a world in principle as chaste 
As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, 
That govern all things here, shouldering aside 
The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her 
To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 
In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men : 
Wbere Violence shall never lift the sword, 
Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, 
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 
Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem 
The occasion it presents of doing good 
More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak 
Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 
And Equity; not jealous more to guard 
A worthless form, than to decide aright : — 
Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 
Nor smooth Grood-breeding (supplemental grace) 
With lean performance ape the work of Love ! 

Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, 
Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine 
By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth ; 
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, 
And overpaid its value with thy blood. 
Thy saints proclaim thee king : and in their hearts 
Thy title is engraven with a pen 
Bipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 



THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 213 

Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and thy delay 
Gives courage to their foes, who, conld they see 
The dawn of thy last advent, long desired, 
Would creep into the bowels of the hills, 
And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
The very spirit of the world is tired 
Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 
" Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ] w 
The infidel has shot his holts away, 
Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none, 
He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, 
And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, 
That hides divinity from mortal eyes ; 
And all the mysteries to faith proposed, 
Insulted and traduced, are cast aside, 
As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 
They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised, 
Who, constant only in rejecting thee, 
Deny thy Grodhead with a martyr's zeal, 
And quit their office for their error's sake. 
Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet e'en these 
Worthy, compared with sycophants, who kneel 
Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man ! 
So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare 
The world takes little thought. Who will may preach, 
And what they will. All pastors are alike 
To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none. 
Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Grain : 
For these they live, they sacrifice to these, 
And in their service wage perpetual war 
With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts 
And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 
To prey upon each other : stubborn, fierce, 
High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
Thy prophets speak of such ; and, noting down 
The features of the last degenerate times, 
Exhibit every lineament of these. 
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, 
Due to thy last and most effectual work, 
Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world ! 
He is the happy man whose life e'en now 
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; 
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, 
Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose,, 
Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the fruit 
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 
Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 
Content indeed to sojourn while he must 
Below the skies, but having there his home. 
The world overlooks him in her busy search 
Of objects, more illustrious in her view ; 
And. occupied as earnestly as she, 



214 THE TASK. 



Though more sublimely, he overlooks the world. 

She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 

He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. 

He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 

Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems 

Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 

Therefore in Contemplation is his bliss, 

Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth 

She makes familiar with a heaven unseen, 

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 

Not slothful he, though seeming unemployM, 

And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams 

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird 

That flutters least is longest on the wing. 

Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised, 

Or what achievements of immortal fame 

He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 

His warfare is within. There, unfatigued, 

His fervent spirit labours. There he fights, 

And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, 

And never-withering wreaths, compared with which 

The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds. 

Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, 

That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks 

Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, 

Deems him a cipher in the works of (rod, 

Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 

Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 

Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 

And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, 

When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint 

Walks forth to meditate at even-tide, 

And think on her who thinks no* for herself. 

Forgive him, then, thou bustler in concerns 

Of little worth, an idler in the best, 

If, author of no mischief and some good, 

He seek his proper happiness by means 

That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 

Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, 

Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, 

Account him an encumbrance on the state, 

Receiving benefits, and rendering none. 

His sphere, though humble, if that humble sphere 

Shine with his fair example, and though small 

His influence, if that influence all be spent 

In soothing sorrow and in quenching strife, 

In aiding helpless indigence, in works 

From which at least a grateful few deriv© 

Some taste of comfort in a world of woe ; 

Then let the supercilious great confess 

He serves his country, recompenses well 

The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine 

He sits secure, and in the scale of life 

Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 



THE WINTER WALK AT BTO 215 

The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen, 

Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; 

Bnt he may boast, what few that win it can, 

That, if his country stand not by his skill, 

At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 

Polite Refinement offers him in vain 

Her golden tube, through which a sensual world 

Draws gross impurity, and likes it well, 

The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 

Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 

Because that world adopts it. If it bear 

The stamp and clear impression of good sense, 

And be not costly more than of true worth, 

He puts it on, and, for decorum sake, 

Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 

She judges of refinement by the eye, 

He by the test of conscience, and a heart 

Not soon deceived ; aware that what is base 

No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, 

Though well perfumed and elegantly dress'd, 

Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flowers 

Is but a garnish 'd nuisance, fitter far 

For cleanly riddance than for fail* attire. 

So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 

More golden than that age of fabled gold 

Renown'd in ancient song ; not vex'd with care 

Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approved 

Of Grod and man, and peaceful in its end. 

So glide my life away ! and so, at last, 

My share of duties decently fulfill'd, 

May some disease, not tardy to perform 

Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke, 

Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, 

Beneath the turf that I have often trod. 

It shall not grieve me then that once, when cali'd 

To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, 

I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, 

With that light task ; but soon, to please her more, 

Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, 

Let fall the unfinished wreath, and roved for fruit ; 

Roved far, and gather'd much : some harsh, 'tis true, 

Pick'd from the thorns and briars of reproof, 

But wholesome, well-digested ; grateful some 

To palates that can taste immortal truth ; 

Insipid else, and sure to be despised. 

But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. 

In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, 

If he regard not, though divine the theme. 

'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 

And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, 

To charm His ear, whose eye is on the heart ; 

Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, 

Wluse approbation — prosper even mine. 



TIROCINIUM: 

OR, 

A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 



PlATO. 

Dioo. Laeht. 



To the Re*. William Cawthorne TTnwin, Rector of Stock in Essex, the tutor of his two 
sons, the following poem, recommending private tuition in preference to au educatioa 
at school, is inscribed, by hie affectionate friend, 
Olney, Kov. 6, 1784. Wiiliam Cowtx*, 

It is not from his form, in which we trace 

Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, 

That man, the master of this globe, derives 

His right of empire over all that lives. 

That form, indeed, the associate of a mind 

Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind, 

That form, the labour of Almighty skill, 

Framed for the service of a freeborn will, 

Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, 

But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 

Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne, 

An intellectual kingdom, all her own. 

For her the memory fills her ample pa^e 

With truths pour'd down from every distant age; 

For her amasses an unbounded store, 

The wisdom of great nations, now no more; 

Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil ; 

Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ; 

When copiously supplied, then most enlarged ; 

Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged. 

For her the Fancy, roving unconfined, 

The present muse of every pensive mind, 

Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue 

To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. 

At her command winds rise and waters roar, 

Again she lays them slumbering on the shore m } 

With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies. 

Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. 

For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife 

That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, 



tirocinium; oh, a review of schools. 217 

Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill. 
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, 
Condemns, approves, and, with a faithful voice, 
Gruides the decision of a doubtful choice. 

Why did the fiat of a (rod give birth 
To yon fair Sun and his attendant Earth ? 
And, when descending he resigns the skies, 
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, 
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves, 
And owns her power on every shore he laves v 
Why do the seasons still enrich the year, 
Fruitful and young as in their first career ] 
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze : 
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, 
Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous clews 
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues. — 
'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, 
Power misemployed, munificence misplaced, 
Had not its Author dignified the plan, 
And crown'd it with the majesty of man. 
Thus form'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, 
Look where he will, the wonders Grod has wrought, 
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 
Finds in a sober moment time to pause, 
To press the important question on his heart, 
" Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ?* 
If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, 
The next mere dust and ashes in the grave ; 
Endued with reason only to descry 
His crimes and follies with an aching eye ; 
With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, 
The force he spends against their fury vain ; 
And if, soon after having burnt, by turns, 
With every lust with which frail Nature burns, 
His being end where death dissolves the bond, 
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond ; 
Then he, of all that Nature has brought forth, 
Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, 
And, useless while he lives, and when he dies, 
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 

Truths that the learn'd pursue with eager thought 
Are not important always as dear-bought, 
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 
A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
But truths on which depends our main concern, 
That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, 
Shine by the side of every path we tread 
With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 
'Tis true that, if to trifle life away 
Down to the sunset of their latest day, 
Then perish on futurity's wide shore 
Like fleeting exhalations, found no more. 



218 cowper's poems. 



Were all that Heaven required of human kind, 

And all the plan their destiny design'd, 

What none could reverence all might justly blame, 

And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. 

But reason heard, and nature well perused, 

At once the dreaming mind is disabused. 

If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, 

Reflect His attributes who placed them there, 

Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 

Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing mind, 

'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose to invest 

With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, 

Received his nobler nature, and was made 

Fit for the power in which he stands array'd ; 

That first, or last, hereafter, if not here, 

He too might make his author's wisdom clear, 

Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb, 

Suffer his justice in a world to come. 

This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied 

To prove a consequence by none denied, 

That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 

Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth, 

That taught of Q-od they may indeed be wise, 

Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies. 

In early days the conscience has in most 
A quickness, which in later life is lost : 
Preserved from guilt by salutary fears, 
Or guilty, soon relenting into tears. 
Too careless often, as our years proceed, 
What friends we sort with, or what books we read, 
Our parents yet exert a prudent care 
To feed our infant minds with proper fare ; 
And wisely store the nursery by degrees 
With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. 
Neatly secured from being soiTd or torn 
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 
A book (to please us at a tender age 
'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page) 
Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach, 
Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. 
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 
Through moral narrative, or sacred text ; 
And learn with wonder how this world began, 
Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd man : 
Points which, unless the Scripture made them plain, 
The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 

thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing 
Back to the season of life's happy spring, 

1 pleased remember, and, while memory yet 
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget ; 
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; 

Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style, 
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smOe ; 



TIROCINIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS 219 



Witty, and well employ 'd, and, like thy Lord, 

Speaking in parables his slighted word ; 

I name thee not, lest so despised a name 

Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; 

Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, 

That mingles all my brown with sober grey, 

Revere the man whose Pilgrim marks the road, 

And guides the Progress of the soul to Grod. 

'Twere well with most, if books that could engage 

Their childhood pleased them at a riper age ; 

The man, approving what had charm'd the boy, 

Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy, 

And not with curses on his heart, who stole 

The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. 

The stamp of artless piety impressed 

By kind tuition on his yielding breast, 

The youth, now bearded and yet pert and raw, 

Regards with scorn, though once received with awe $ 

And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies, 

That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise, 

Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 

R-eplete with dreams, unworthy of a man. 

Touch but his nature in its'ailing part, 

Assert the native evil of his heart, 

His pride resents the charge, although the proof* 

Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough : 

Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross. 

As Gfod's expedient to retrieve his loss, 

The young apostate sickens at the view, 

And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 

How weak the barrier of mere nature prove?, 
Opposed against the pleasures nature loves ! 
"While self-betray'd, and wilfully undone, 
She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. 
Try now the merits of this blest exchange 
Of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. 
Time was, he closed as he began the day, 
With decent duty, not ashamed to pray ; 
The practice was a bond upon his heart, 
A pledge he gave for a consistent part ; 
Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
A power confess'd so lately on his knees. 
Rut now farewell all legendary tales, 
The shadows fly, philosophy prevails ; 
Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves ; 
Religion makes the free by nature slaves. 
Priests have invented, and the world admired 
"What knavish priests promulgate as inspired ; 
Till Reason, now no longer overawed, 
Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud ; 
And, common sense diffusing real day, 
The meteor of the Grospel dies away. 

* See 2 On ; .-.. xxri. 19- 



220 COWPER S POEMS. 



Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 

Learn from expert inquirers after truth ; 

"Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, 

Is not to find what they profess to seek. 

And thus, well tutor'd only while we share 

A mother's lectures and a nurse's care ; 

And taught at schools much mythologic stuff, * 

But sound religion sparingly enough ; 

Our early notices of truth disgraced, 

Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. 

"Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, 

Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once ; 

That in good time the stripling's finish'd taste 

For loose expense and fashionable waste 

Should prove your ruin, and his own at last ; 

Train him in public with a mob of boys, 

Childish in mischief only and in noise, 

Else of a mannish growth, and five in ten 

In infidelity and lewdness men. 

There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 

That authors are most useful pawn'd or sold ; 

That pedantry is all that schools impart, 

But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; 

There waiter Dick, with bacchanalian lays, 

Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise, 

His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove, 

And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 

Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong, 

Detain their adolescent charge too long; 

The management of tyros of eighteen 

Is difficult, their punishment obscene. 

The stout tall captain, whose superior size 

The minor heroes view with envious eyes, 

Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 

Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 

His pride, that scorns to obey or to submit, 

"With them is courage ; his effrontery wit. 

His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 

Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 

His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes, 

Transport them, and are made their favourite themes. 

In little bosoms such achievements strike 

A kindred spark : they burn to do the like. 

Thus, half accomplish'd ere he yet begin 

To show the peeping down upon his chin ; 

And, as maturity of years comes on, 

Made just the adept that you design'cl your son ; 

To ensure the perseverance of his course, 

And give your monstrous project all its fcrce, 

* The author begs leave to explain.— Sensible that, without such knowledge, neithei 
the ancient poets nor historians can be tasted, or indeed understood, he does not mean 
to censure the pain3 that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the religion of the 
heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture which leaves rim "shamefully 
US norant of his own. 



TIROCINIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OE SCHOOLS. 221 

Send him to college. If he there be tamed, 

Or in one article of vice reclaim 'd, 

"Where no regard of ordinances is shown 

Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. 

Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, 

"Where neither strumpets' charms, nor drinking bout, 

Nor gambling practices can find it out. 

Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too, 

Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you : 

Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds, 

For public schools 'tis public folly feeds. 

The slaves of custom and establish'd mode, 

With packhorse constancy we keep the road, 

Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, 

True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 

To follow foolish precedents, and wink 

With both our eyes, is easier than to think ; 

And such an age as ours balks no expense, 

Except of caution and of common sense ; 

Else sure notorious fact, and proof so plain, 

Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 

I blame not those who, with what care they can, 

O'erwatch the numerous and unruly clan; 

Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare 

Promise a work of which they must despair. 

Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, 

A ubiquarian presence and control, 

Elisha's eye, that, when Gfehazi stray'd, 

Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd 1 

Yes — ye are conscious ; and on all the shelves 

Your pupils strike upon have struck yourselves. 

Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, 

Boys as ye were, the gravity of men, 

Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd 

To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. 

But ye connive at what ye cannot cure, 

And evils not to be endured endure, 

Lest power exerted, but without success, 

Should make the little ye retain still less. 

Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth 

Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth ; 

And in the firmament of fame still shines 

A glory, bright as that of all the signs, 

Of poets raised by you, and statesmen, and divines. 

Peace to them all! those brilliant times are fled, 

And no such lights are kindling in their stead. 

Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays 

As set the midnight riot in a blaze ; 

And seem, if judged by their expressive looks, 

Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. 

Say, muse (for education made the song, 
No muse can hesitate, or linger long), 
What causes move us, knowing, as we must, 
That these menageries all fail their trust, 



222 COWPER'S POEMS. 



To send our sons to scout and scamper there, 
While colts and puppies cost us so much care? 

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, 
We' love the play-place of our early days ; 
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 
The very name we carved subsisting still ; 
The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, 
Though mangled, hack'd, and kew'd, not yet destroy' d ; 
The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot, 
Playing our games, and on the very spot ; 
As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw ; 
To pitch the ball into the .grounded hat, 
Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat ; 
The pleasing spectacle at once excites 
Such recollection of our own delights, 
That, viewing it, we seem almost to obtain 
Our innocent sweet simple years again. 
This fond attachment to the well-known place, 
Whence first we started into life's long race, 
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, 
We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day. 
Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share 
Of classic food begins to be his care, 
With his own likeness placed on either knee, 
Indulges all a father's heartfelt glee ; 
And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, 
That they must soon learn Latin, and to box ; 
Then turning, he regales his listening wife 
With all the adventures of his early life; 
His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, 
In bilking tavern-bills, and spouting plays ; 
What shifts he used, detected in a scrape, 
How he was flogg'd, or had the luck to escape ; 
What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 
Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told, 
Retracing thus his frolics ('tis a name 
That palliates deeds of folly and of shame), 
He gives the local bias all its sway ; 
Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, 
And destines their bright genius to be shown 
Just in the scene where he display 'd his own. 
The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught 
To be as bold and forward as he ought ; 
The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, 
Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. 
Ah, happy designation, prudent choice, 
The event is sure ; expect it, and rejoice! 
Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either child, 
The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 

The great indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 
Excused the incumbrance of more solid worth. 



TIROCINIUM J OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 223 

Are best disposed of where with most success 

They may acquire that confident address, 

Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 

That scorn of all delights but those of sense, 

Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, 

With so much reason, all expect from them, 

But families of less illustrious fame, 

Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 

Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small, 

Must shine by true desert, or not at all, 

What dream they of, that, with so little care 

They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure, there ! 

They dream of little Charles or William graced 

With wig prolix, down flowing to his waist ; 

They see the attentive crowds his talents draw, 

They hear him speak — the oracle of law. 

The father, who designs his babe a priest, 

Dreams him episcopally such at least ; 

And, while the playful jockey scours the room 

Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom, 

In fancy sees him more superbly ride 

In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. 

Events improbable and strange as these, 

Which only a parental eye foresees, 

A public school shall bring to pass with ease. 

But how % resides such virtue in that air, 

As must create an appetite for prayer ] 

And will it brea.the into him all the zeal 

That candidates for such a prize should feel, 

To take the lead and be the foremost still 

In all true worth and literary skill ] 

" Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught 

The knowledge of the World, and dull of thought ! 

Church-ladders are not always mounted best 

By learned clerks and Latinists profess'd. 

The exalted prize demands an upward look, 

Not to be found by poring on a book. 

Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 

Is more than adequate to all I seek. 

Let erudition grace him, or not grace, 

I give the bauble but the second place ; 

His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, 

Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. 

A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects, 

Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. 

His intercourse with peers and sons of peers — 

There dawns the splendour of his future years : 

In that bright quarter his propitious skies 

Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. 

Your Lordship, and Your Grace ! what school can teach 

A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech ] 

What need of Homer's verse or Tully's prose, 

Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those] 

Let reverend churls his ignorance rebuke, 



224 cowper's poems. 

Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, 

The parson knows enough who knows a duke." 

Egregious purpose ! worthily begun 

In barbarous prostitution of your son ; 

Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 

A scrivener's clerk, or footman out of place, 

And ending, if at last its end be gain'd, 

In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. 

It may succeed ; and, if his sins should call 

For more than common punishment, it shall ; 

The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 

Least qualified in honour, learning, worth, 

To occupy a sacred, awful post, 

In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 

The royal letters are a thing of course, 

A king, that would, might recommend his horse ; 

And deans, no doubt, and chapters, with one voice. 

As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. 

Behold your bishop ! well he plays his part-, 

Christian in name, and infidel in heart, 

Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 

A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. 

Dumb as a senator, and as a priest 

A piece of mere church furniture at best ; 

To live estranged from God his total scope, 

And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 

But, fair although and feasible it seem, 

Depend not much upon your golden dream ; 

For Providence, that seems concern'd to exempt 

The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt, 

In spite of all the wrigglers into place, 

Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace t 

And therefore 'tis, that, though the sight be rare, 

We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 

Besides, school friendships are not always found, 

Though fair in promise, permanent and sound ; 

The most disinterested and virtuous minds, 

In early years connected, time unbinds, 

New situations give a different cast 

Of habit, inclination, temper, taste; 

And he, that seem'd our counterpart at first, 

Soon shows the strong similitude reversed. 

Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are wann^ 

And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 

Boys are, at best, but pretty buds unblown, 

Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than knows} 

Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 

But learns his error in maturer years, 

When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 

Shows all its rents and patches to the world. 

If, therefore, e'en when h onest in design, 

A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 

'Twere wiser sure to inspire a little heart 

With just abhorrence of so mean a part* 



TIROCINIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 225 

Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
For wages so unlikely to be paid. 

Our public hives of puerile resort, 
That are of chief and most approved report, 
To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, 
Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. 
A principle, whose proud pretensions pass 
Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass — 
That with a world, not often over-nice, 
Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice; 
Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, 
Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride — 
Contributes most, perhaps, to enhance their fame ; 
And emulation is its specious name. 
Boys, once on fire with that contentious seal, 
Feel all the rage that female rivals feel ; 
The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes 
Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prase. 
The spirit of that competition burns 
With all varieties of ill by turns ; 
Each vainly magnifies his own success, 
Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, 
Exults in his miscarriage if he fail, 
Deems his reward too great if he prevail, 
And labours to surpass him day and night, 
Less for improvement than to tickle spite. 
The spur is powerful, and I grant its force ; 
It pricks the genius forward in its course, 
Allows short time for play, and none for sloth ; 
And, felt alike by each, advances both : 
But judge, where so much evil intervenes, 
The end, though plausible, not worth the means. 
Weigh, for a moment, classical desert 
Against a heart depraved and temper hurt ; 
Hurt too perhaps for life ; for early wrong 
Done to the nobler part affects it long ; 
And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause, 
If you can crown a discipline, that draws 
Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. 

Connexion form'd for interest, and endeared 
By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd ; 
And emulation, as engendering hate, 
Doom'd to a no less ignominious fate : 
The props of such proud seminaries fall, 
The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 
Great schools rejected then, as those that swel) 
Beyond a size that can be managed well, 
Shall royal institutions miss the bays, 
And small academies win all the praise] 
Force not my drift beyond its just intent, 
I praise a school as Pope a government ; 
So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
" Whatever is best administer'd is best/' 
Few boys are born with talents that excel, 



226 cowper's poems. 



But all are capable of liviDg well; 
Then ask not, whether limited or large; 
But, watch they strictly, or neglect their charge? 
If anxious only that their boys may learn, 
While morals languish, a despised concern, 
The great and small deserve one common blame, 
Different in size, but in effect the same. 
Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast, 
Though motives of mere lucre sway the most ; 
Therefore in towns and cities they abound, 
For there the game they seek is easiest found ; 
Though there, in spite of all that care can do, 
Traps to catch youth are most abundant too. 
If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain, 
Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain, 
Your son come forth a prodigy of skill ; 
As, wheresoever taught, so form'd, he will ; 
The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, 
Claims more than half the praise as his due share. 
But if, with all his genius, he betray, 
Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 
Such vicious habits as disgrace his name, 
Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame ; 
Though want of due restraint alone have bred 
The symptoms that you see with so much dread; 

(Jnenvied there, he may sustain alone 

The whole reproach, the fault was all his own, 

Oh ! 'tis a sight to be with joy perused, 
By all whom sentiment has not abused ; 
New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
Of those who never feel in the right place ; 
A sight surpass'd by none that we can show, 

Though Vestris on one leg still shine below ; 

A father blest with an ingenuous son, 

Father, arid friend, and tutor, all in one. 

How ! — turn again to tales long since forgot, 

iEsop, and Phaedrus, and the rest ? — Why not 1 

He will not blush, that has a father's heart, 

To take in childish plays a childish part; 

But bends his sturdy back to any toy 

That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy : 

Then why resign into a stranger's hand 

A task as much within your own command, 

That God and nature, and your interest too, 

Seem with one voice to delegate to you ] 

Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 

For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round your own I 

This second weaning, needless as it is, 

How does it lacerate both your heart and his! 

The indented stick, that loses day by day, 

Notch after notch, till all are smoothed away, 

Bears witness, long ere his dismission come, 

With what intense desire he wants his home. 

But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 



TIROCINIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OP SCHOOLS. 227 

Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, 

Harmless, and safe, and natural, as they ai 

A disappointment waits him even there : 

Arrived, he feels an unexpected change ; 

He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange 

No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease, 

His favourite stand between his father's knee3, 

But seeks the corner of some distant seat, 

And eyes the door, and watches a retreat, 

And, least familiar where he should be most, x 

Feels all his happiest privileges lost. 

Alas, poor boy! — the natural effect 

Of love by absence chill'd into respect. 

Say, what accomplishments, at school acquired, 

Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired % 

Thou well deserv'st an alienated son, 

Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none ; 

None that, in thy domestic snug recess, 

He had not made his own with more address, 

Though some, perhaps, that shock thy feeling mind, 

And better never learn'd, or left behind. 

Add too, that, thus estranged, thou canst obtain 

By no kind arts his confidence again ; 

That here begins with most that long complaint 

Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint, 

Which, oft neglected, in life's waning years 

A parent pours into regardless ears. 

Like caterpillars, dangling under trees 
By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 
The boughs in which are bred the unseemly race ; 
While every worm industriously weaves 
And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves ; 
So numerous are the follies that annoy 
The mind and heart of every sprightly boy; 
Imaginations noxious and perverse, 
Which admonition can alone disperse. 
The encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, 
Patient, affectionate, of high command, 
To check the procreation of a breed 
Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 
'Tis not enough that Greek or Roman page, 
At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage . 
E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend 
To warn, and teach him safely to unbend; 
O'er all his pleasures gently to preside, _ 
Watch his emotions, and control their tide ; 
And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 
A tax of profit from his very play, 
To impress a value, not to be erased, 
On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste. 
And seems it nothing in a father's eye 
That unimproved those many moments fly'.* 
And is he well content his son should find 



f28 oowper's poems. 



No nourishment to feed his growing mind, 
But conjugated verbs and nouns declined 1 
For such is all the mental food purvey'd 
By public hackneys in the schooling trade; 
Who feed a pupil's intellect with store 
Of syntax truly, but with little more ; 
Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock, 
Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 
Perhaps a father, blest with any brains, 
Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains, 
To improve this diet, at no great expense, 
With savoury truth and wholesome common sense ; 
To lead his son, for prospects of delight, 
To some not steep, thoug'h philosophic, height, 
Thence to exhibit to his wondering eyes 
Yon circling worlds, their distance and their size, 
The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball, 
And the harmonious order of them all ; 
To show him in an insect or a flower 
Such microscopic proof of skill and poi7er 
As, hid from ages past, God now displays 
To combat atheists with in modern days ; 
To spread the earth before him, and commend, 
With designation of the finger's end, 
Its various parts to his attentive note, 
Thus bringing home to him the most remote ; 
To teach his heart to glow with generous flame, 
Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame ; 
And, more than all, with commendation due, 
To set some living worthy in his view, 
Whose fair example may at once inspire 
" A wish to copy what he must admire. 
Such knowledge, gain'd betimes, and which appears, 
Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 
Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, 
When health demands it, of athletic sort, 
Would make him — w^hat some lovely boys have been, 
And more than one perhaps that I have seen — 
An evidence and reprehension both 
Of the mere schoolboy's lean and tardy growth. 

Art thou a man professionally tied, 
With all thy faculties elsewhere applied, 
Too busy to intend a meaner care 
Than how to enrich thyself, and next thine heir ; 
Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art) 
But poor in knowledge, having none to impart : — 
Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad ; 
His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad ; 
Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
Heard to articulate like other men ; 
No jester, and yet lively in discourse, 
His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force ; 
And his address, if not quite French in ease, 
Net English stiff, but frank, and form'd to please ; 



TIROCINIUM j OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 22$ 

Low in the world, because he scorns its arts ; 

A man of letters, manners, morals, parts 5 

Unpatronised, and therefore little known; 

"Wise for himself and his few friends alone 

In him thy well-appointed proxy see, 

Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee ; 

Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth, 

To form thy son, to strike his genius forth ; 

Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove 

The force of discipline when back'd by love ; 

To double all thy pleasure in thy child, 

His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled. 

Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show 

No spots contracted among grooms below, 

Nor taint his speech with meannesses, design'd 

By footman Tom for witty and refined. 

There, in his commerce with the liveried herd, 

Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd ; 

For since (so fashion dictates) all, who claim 

A higher than a mere plebeian fame, 

Find it expedient, come what mischief may, 

To entertain a thief or two in pay 

(And they that can afford the expense of more, 

Some half a dozen, and some half a score), 

Great cause occurs to save him from a band 

So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; 

A point secured, if once he be supplied 

With some such Mentor always at his side. 

Are such men rare ] perhaps they would abound 

Were occupation easier to be found, 

Were education, else so sure to fail, 

Conducted on a manageable scale, 

And schools, that have outlived all just esteem, 

Exchanged for the secure domestic scheme. — 

But, having found him, be thou duke or earl, 

Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl, 

And, as thou wouldst the advancement of thine heir 

In all good faculties beneath his care, 

Respect, as is but rational and just, 

A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 

Despised by thee, what more can he expect 

From youthful folly than the same neglect 1 

A flat and fatal negative obtains 

That instant upon all his future pains ; 

His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend, 

And all the instructions of thy son's best friend 

Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. 

Doom him not then to solitary meals ; 

But recollect that he has sense, and feels* 

And that, possessor of a soul refined, 

An upright heart, and cultivated mind, 

His post not mean, his talents not unknown, 

He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 

And, if admitted at thy board he sit- 



130 COWPER S POEMS. 



Account him no just mark for idle wit ; 
Offend not him, whom modesty restrains 
From repartee, with j okes that he disdains ; 
Much less transfix his feelings with an oath ; 
Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth.— 
And, trust me, his utility may reach 
To more than he is hired or bound to teach ; 
Much trash unutter'cl, and some ills undone, 
Through reverence of the censor of thy son. 

But, if thy table be indeed unclean, 
Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene, 
And thou a wretch, whom, following her old plan, 
The world accounts an honourable man, 
Because forsooth thy courage has been tried, 
And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side ; 
Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
That any thing but. vice could win thy love ; — 
Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, 
Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life ; 
"Who, just when industry begins to snore, 
Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coach-crowded door; 
And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
With half the chariots and sedans in town ; 
Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou may'st ; 
Not very sober though, nor very chaste ; 
Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank, 
If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, 
And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood, 
A trifler vain, and empty of ail good; — 
Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none. 
Here Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. 
Saved from his home, where every day brings forth 
Some mischief fatal to his future worth, 
Find him a better in a distant spot, 
Within some pious pastor's humble cot, 
Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean, 
The most seducing, and the oftenest seen) 
May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, 
Not yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
Where early rest makes early rising sure, 
Disease or cornea not, or finds easy cure, 
Prevented much by diet neat and clean ; 
Or, if it enter, soon starved out again : 
Where all the attention of his faithful host, 
Discreetly limited to two at most, 
May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, 
And not at last evaporate in air : 
Where, stillness aiding study, and his mind 
Serene, and to his duties much inclined, 
Not occupied in day dreams, as at home, 
Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come, 
His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
In settled habit and decided taste. — 
But whom do I advise? the fashion-led. 



TIROCIKIUM ; OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 231 

The incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead ! 
Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
Not better much than spectacles a brute ; 
Who, if their sons some slight tuition share, 
Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ; 
Too proud to adopt the thoughts of one unknown. 
And much too gay to have any of their own. 
But courage, man ! methought the Muse replied, 
Mankind are various, and the world is wide : 
The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind. 
And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 
Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust, 
Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ; 
And, while on public nurseries they rely, 
Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why, 
Irrational in what they thus prefer, 
No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. 
But all are not alike. Thy warning voice 
May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; 
And some, perhaps, who, busy as they are, 
Yet make their progeny their dearest care 
(Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach 
Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach), 
Will need no stress of argument to enforce 
The expedience of a less adventurous course : 
The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn ; 
But they have human feelings — turn to them. 
To you, then, tenants of life's middle state, 
Securely placed between the small and great, 
Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
Two-thirds of all the virtue that remains, 
Who, wise yourselves, desire your sons should learn 
Your wisdom and your ways — to you I turn. 
Look round you on a world perversely blind ; 
See what contempt is fallen on human kind ; 
See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced, 
Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced, 
Long lines of ancestry, renown'd of old, 
Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold ; 
See Bedlam's closeted and handcufT'd charge 
Surpass'd in frenzy by the mad at large ; 
See great commanders making war a trade, 
Great lawyers, lawyers without study made ; 
Churchmen, in whose esteem their best employ 
Is odious, and their wages all their joy, 
Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves 
With Gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; 
See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed 
WitH infamy too nauseous to be named, 
Fops at all corners, ladylike in mien, 
Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen, 
Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 
On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung, 
Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom pale, ' 



232 C0WPER S POEMS. 



Their breath a sample of last night's regale ; 

See volunteers in all the vilest arts, 

Men well endow'd, of honourable parts, 

Design'd by Nature wise, but self-made fools ; 

All these, and more like these, were bred at schools. 

And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will, 

That though school-bred the boy be virtuous still ; 

Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark, 

Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark : 

As here and there a twinkling star descried 

Serves but to show how black is all beside. 

Now look on him, whose very voice in tone 

Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own, 

And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red, 

And lay thine hand upon' his flaxen head, 

And say, My boy, the unwelcome hour is come, 

When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 

Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, 

And trust for safety to a stranger's care ; 

"What character, what turn thou wilt assume 

From constant converse with I know not whom ; 

Who there will court thy friendship, with what views* 

And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; 

Though much depends on what thy choice shall be, 

Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me. 

Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids, 

And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids; 

Free too, and under no constraining force, 

Unless the sway of custom warp thy course ; 

Lay such a stake upon the losing side, 

Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? 

Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart, 

Condemns the unfatherly, the imprudent part. 

Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest plea, 

Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea, 

Nor say, G-o thither, conscious that there lay 

A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way ; 

Then, only govern'd by the self-same rule 

Of natural pity, send him not to school. 

No — guard him better. Is he not thine own, 

Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone ] 

And hopest thou not ('tis every father's hope), 

That, since thy strength must with thy years elope, 

And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage 

Health's last farewell, a staff of thine old age, 

That then, in recompence of all thy cares, 

Thy child shall show respect to thy grey hairs, 

Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft, 

And give thy life its only cordial left ? 

Aware then how much danger intervenes, 

To compass that good end, forecast the means. 

His heart, now passive, yields to thy command ; 

Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand ; _ 

If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, 



tirocinium; or, a review OF SCHOOLS. 233 

Nor heed what guests there enter and abide, 
Complain not if attachments lewd and base 
Supplant thee in it and usurp thy place. 
But, if thou guard its sacred chambers sure 
From vicious inmates and delights impure, 
Either his gratitude shall hold him fast, 
And keep him warm and filial to the last; 
Or, if he prove unkind (as who can say 
But, being man, and therefore frail, he may?), 
One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, 
Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 

Oh, barbarous! wouldst thou with a Gothic hand 
Pull down the schools — what. — all the schools i' th' land ; 
Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms, 
Or turn them into shops and auction-rooms ? 
A captious question, sir (and yours is one), 
Deserves an answer similar, or none. 
"Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ 
(Apprised that he is such) a careless boy, 
And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, 
Merely to sleep, and let them run astray ) 
Survey our schools and colleges, and see 
A sight not much unlike my simile. 
From education, as the leading cause, 
The public character its colour draws ; 
Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, 
Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
And though I would not advertise them yet, 
Nor write on each— This Building to be Let, 
Unless the world were all prepared to embrace 
A plan well worthy to supply their place ; 
Yet, backward as they are, and long have been* 
To cultivate and keep the morals clean 
(Forgive the crime), I wish them, I confess 
Or better managed, or encouraged less. 



THE OLNEY HYMN T S, 



I. WALKING WITH GOD.— Genesis v. U. 

Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 
A calm and heavenly frame ; 

A light to shine upon the road 
That leads me to the Lamb ! 

Where is the blessedness I knew 
__When first I saw the Lord ] 
Where is the soul-refreshing view 
Of Jesus and his word 1 

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd ! 

How sweet their memory still ! 
But they have left an aching void> 

The world can never fill. 

Return, holy Dove, return ! 

Sweet messenger of rest : 
I hate the sins that made thee mourn. 

And drove thee from my breast. 

The dearest idol I have known, 

Whate'er that idol be, 
Help me to tear it from thy throne, 

And worship only thee. 

So shall my walk be close with God, 
Calm and serene my frame : 

So purer light shall mark the road 
That leads me to the Lamb. 



fl JEHOVAH-JIREH. THE LORD WILL PROVIDE.- 

Genesis xxii. 14. 

The saints should never be dismay'd, 

Nor sink in hopeless fear ; 
For when they least expect his aid, 

The Saviour will appear. 



OLXEY HYMXS. 235 



Tliis Abraham found : lie raised the knife; 

God saw, and said, " Forbear ! 
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life ; 

Behold the victim there." 

Once David seem'd Saul's certain prey ; 

But hark ! the foe's at hand ; * 
Saul turns his arms another way, 

To save the invaded land. 

"When Jonah sunk beneath the wave, 
He thought to rise no more ; t" 

But God prepared a fish to save, 
And bear him to the shore. 

Blest proofs of power and grace diving 

That meet us in his word ! 
May every deep-felt care of mine 

Be trusted with the Lord. 

Wait for his seasonable aid, 

And though it tarry, wait : 
The promise may be long delay'd, 

But cannot come too late. 



Ill JEHOVAH-ROPHI. I AM THE LORD THAT HEALETE 
THEE Exodus xv. 26. 

Heal us, Emmanuel, here we are, 

Waiting to feel thy touch : 
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair, 

And, Saviour, we are such. 
Our faith is feeble, we confess, 

"We faintly trust thy word ; 
But wilt thou pity us the lessl 

Be that far from thee, Lord ! 
Remember him who once applied, 

With trembling, for relief; 
" Lord, I believe/' with tears he cried, ^ 

u Oh, help my unbelief!" 
She too, who touch'd thee in the press, 

And healing virtue stole, 
Was answer'd, (< Daughter, go in peace, § 

Thy faith hath made thee whole." 
Conceal'd amid the gathering throng, 

She would have shunn'd thy view; 
And if her faith was firm and strong, 

Had strong misgivings too. 
Like her, with hopes and fears we come, 

To touch thee, if we may ; 
Oh ! send us not despairing home, 

Send none unheard away. 

• i Samuel xxiii. 27. f Jonah i. 17. \ Mark is. 24. § Mart. r. 34. 



236 COWPEIt'S POEMS. 



IV. JEHOVAH-NISSI. THE LORD MY BANNER -Excdus xvii, 15. 

By whom was David taught 

To aim the deadly blow, 
When he Goliath fought, 
And laid the Gittite low] 
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took, 
But chose a pebble from the brook. 

'Twas Israel's God and King 
Who sent him to the fight; 
Who gave him strength to sling, 
And skill to aim aright. 
Ye feeble saints/ your strength endures* 
Because young David's God is yours. 

Who order'd Gideon forth, 

To storm the invader's camp, 
With arms of little worth, 
A pitcher and a lamp 1 * 
The trumpets made his coming known, 
A.nd all the host was overthrown. 

Oh ! I have seen the day, 

When, with a single word, 
God helping me to say, 
My trust is in the Lord, 
My soul hath quell'd a thousand fo©s, 
Fearless of all that could oppose. 

But unbelief, self-will, 

Self-righteousness, and pride, 
How often do they steal 
My weapon from my side ! 
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend, 
Will help his servant to the end. 



V. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND PEACE.- 

Judges vi. 24. 

Jesus, whose blood so freely stream'cf, 

To satisfy the law's demand ; 
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem' d, 

Before the Father's face .1 stand. 

To reconcile offending man, 
Make Justice drop her angry rod ; 

What creature could have form'd the plan, 
Or who fulfil it but a God] 

No drop remains of all the curse, 
For wretches who deserved the whole ; 

No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce 
The guilty but returning soul. 

* Judges Tii. 9. 20 



OLXEY HYMNS. 231 



Peace by such means so dearly bought, 
What rebel could have hoped to see 1 

Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought 
His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree. 

Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare ! 

For strife with earth and hell begins ; 
Confirm and guard me for the war, 

They hate the soul that bates his sing* 

Let them in horrid league agree ! 

They may assault, they may distregs : 
But cannot quench thy love to me, 

Nor rob me of the Lord, my peace. 



VL WISDOM.— Pro veebs viii. 22-31. 

Ere God had built the mountains, 

Or raised the fruitful hills ; 
Before he fill'd the fountains 

That feed the running rills ; 
In me, from everlasting, 

The wonderful I AM, 
Found pleasures never-wasting, 

And Wisdom is my name. 

When, like a tent to dwell in, 

He spread the skies abroad, 
And swathed about the swelling 

Of Ocean's mighty flood ; 
He wrought by» weight and measure} 

And I was with him then : 
Myself the Father's pleasure, 

And mine, the sons of men, 

Thus Wisdom's words discover 

Thy glory and thy grace, 
Thou everlasting lover 

Of our unworthy race ! 
Thy gracious eye survey'd us 

Ere stars were seen above ; 
In wisdom thou hast made us, 

And died for us in love. 

And couldst thou be delighted 

With creatures such as we, 
Who, when we saw thee, slighted 

And nail'd thee to a tree ? 
Unfathomable wonder, 

And mystery divine ! 
The voice that speaks in thunder, 

Says, " Sinner, I am thine I * 



238 COWPEK'S POEMS. 



Vn. VANITY OF THE WORLD. 

God gives his mercies to be spent ; 

Your hoard will do your soul no gxxi; 
Gold is a blessing only lent, 

Repaid by giving others food. 

The world's esteem is but a bribe, 
To buy their peace you sell your own ; 

The slave of a vain-glorious tribe, 
Who hate you while they make you knovn. 

The joy that vain amusements give, 
Oh ! sad conclusion that it brings ! 

The honey of a crowded hive, 
Defended by a thousand stings. 

'Tis thus the world rewards the fools 
That live upon her treacherous smiles : 

She leads them blindfold by her rules, 
And ruins all whom she beguiles. 

God knows the thousands who go down 
From pleasure into endless woe ; 

And with a long despairing groan 
Blaspheme their Maker as they go. 

fearful thought ! be timely wise : 
Delight but in a Saviour's charms, 

And Gfod shall take you to the skies, 
Embraced in everlasting arms. 



Vm. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE THEE.— Isajxh xii. 1. 

I will praise thee every day, 
Now thine anger's turn'd away ! 
Comfortable thoughts arise 
From the bleeding Sacrifice. 

Here in the fair gospel-field, 
Wells of free salvation yield 
Streams of life, a plenteous store, 
And my soul shall thirst no more. 

Jesus is become at length 
My salvation and my strength ; 
And his praises shall -prolong, 
While I live, my pleasant song. 

Praise ye then his glorious name, 
Publish his exalted fame ! 
Still his worth your praise exceeds, 
Excellent are all his deeds. 

Eaise again the joyful sound, 
Let the nations roll it round i 
Zion, shout, for this is he, 
God the Saviour dwells in thee I 



OLNEY HYMNS. 23S 



IX. THE COXTRITE HEART.— Isaiah lvii, 16. 

The Lord will happiness divine 

On contrite hearts bestow ; 
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine 

A contrite heart or no ] 

I hear, but seem to hear in vain, 

Insensible as steel; 
If aught is felt, 'tis only pain 

To find I cannot feel. 

I sometimes think myself inclined 

To love thee, if I could ; 
But often feel another mind, 

Averse to all that's good. 

My best desires are faint and few, 
I fain would strive for more : 

But when I cry, " My strength rene^r," 
Seem weaker than before. 

Thy saints are comforted, I know, 
And love thy house of prayer ; 

I therefore go where others go, 
But find no comfort there. 

make this heart rejoice or ache ; 

Decide this doubt for me ; 
And if it be not broken, break, 

And heal it if it be. 



THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH- 
Isaiah ix. 15-20. 

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken, 
" my people, faint and few, 
Comfortless, afflicted, broken, 
Fair abodes I build for you ; 
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation 
Shall no more perplex your ways : 
You shall name your walls, Salvation, 
And your gates shall all be praise. 

" There, like streams that feed the garden, 
Pleasures without end shall flow ; 
For the Lord, your faith rewarding, 
All his bounty shall bestow ; 
Still in undisturb'd possession 
Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 
Never shall you feel oppression, 
Hear the voice of war again. 

%( Ye no more your suns descending, 
Waning moons no more shall see ; 
But, your griefs for ever ending, 
Find eternal noon in me ; 



cowper's poems. 



God shall rise, and shining o'er yon, 
Change to day the gloom of night ; 
He, the Lord, shall be yonr glory, 
God your everlasting light." 



XI. JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.— Jeremiah xxili. 6. 

My God, how perfect are thy ways ! 

But mine polluted are ; 
Sin twines itself about my praise, 

And slides into my prayer. 

When I would speak what thou hast done, 

To save me from my sin, 
I cannot make'thy mercies known, 

But self applause creeps in. 

Divine desire, that holy flame 

Thy grace creates in me ; 
Alas ! impatience is its name, 

When it returns to thee. 

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts, 

How does it overflow ! 
While self upon the surface floats, 

Still bubbling from below. 

Let others in the gaudy dress 

Of fancied merit shine ; 
The Lord shall be my righteousness, 

The Lord for ever mine. 



KI? fPHRAIM REPENTING.— Jeremiah xxxi. 18-2S 

My God, till I received thy stroke, 

How like a beast was I ! 
So unaccustom'd to the yoke, 

So backward to comply. 

With grief my just reproach I bear, 
Shame fills me at the thought ; 

How frequent my rebellions were ! 
What wickedness I wrought I 

Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd, 

And left the pleasant road ; 
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd, 

Thou art the Lord my God. 

" Is Ephraim banish'd from my thought?-! 

Or vile in my esteem] 
No," saith the Lord, " with all his faults, 

I still remember him. 
" Is he a dear and pleasant child ] 

Yes, dear and pleasant still ; 
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled, 

And he withstood my wilL 



OLXEY HYMNS. 241 



" My sharp rebuke has laid him low, 

He seeks my face again ; 
My pity kindles at his woe, 

He shall not seek in vain.* 



XIII. THE COVENANT Ezektkt. xxxvi. 25-28, 

The Lord proclaims his grace abroad ! 
Behold, I change yonr hearts of stone ; 
Each shall renounce his idol-god, 
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone. 

My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds 
To wash your filthiness away ; 
Ye shall abhor your former deeds, 
And learn my statutes to obey. 

My truth the great design ensuj 
I give myself away to you ; 
You shall be mine, I will be yon 
Your God unalterably true. 

Yet not unsought, or unimplored, 
The plenteous grace shall I confer ; * 
No — your whole hearts shall seek the Lord, 
I'll put a praying spirit there. 

From the first breath of life divine, 
Down to the last expiring hour, 
The gracious work shall all be mine, 
Begun and ended in my power. 



XIV. JEHOVAH.SHAMMAH.— Ezekiel xlrlil. SSw 

As birds their infant brood protect, f 
And spread their wings to shelter them, 
Thus saith the Lord to his elect, 
" So will I guard Jerusalem." 
And what then is Jerusalem, 
This darling object of his care 1 
Where is its worth in God's esteem 1 
Who built it, who inhabits there ] 
Jehovah founded it in blood, 
The blood of his incarnate Son ; 
There dwell the saints, once foes to God ; 
The sinners whom he calls his own. 
There, though besieged on every side, 
Yet much beloved and guarded well, 
From age to age they have defied 
The utmost force of earth and hell. 
Let earth repent, and hell despair, 
This city has a sure defence : 
Her name is call'd The Lord is there, 
And who has power to drive him thencs 7 

* Ysrse 37. t Isaian xxxl 5 



242 COWPER'S POEMS. 



XV, PBAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENED.— Zechabiah xlii. L 

There is a fountain fill'd with blood 

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ; 
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, 

Lose all their guilty stains. 

The dying thief rejoiced to see 

That fountain in his day ; 
And there have I, as vile as he, 

Wash'd all my sins away. 

Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood 

Shall never lose it3 power, 
Till all the rarisom'd church of God 

Be saved to sin no more. 

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream 

Thy flowing wounds supply, 
Redeeming love has been my theme, 

And shall be till I die. 

Then in a nobler, sweeter song, 

111 sing thy power to save ; 
When this poor lisping stammering tongue 

Lies silent in the grave. 

Lord, I believe thou hast prepared 

(Unworthy though I be) 
For me a blood-bought free reward, 

A golden harp for me ! 

'Tis strung, and tuned, for endless year% 

And forced by power divine, 
To sound in Gfod the Father's ears 

No other name but thine. 



XVI. THE SOWER — Matthew xiii. 3. 

Ye sons of earth, prepare the plough, 

Break up the fallow ground ; 
The sower is gone forth to sow, 

And scatter blessings round. 
The seed that finds a stony soil, 

Shoots forth a hasty blade ; 
But ill repays the sower's toil, 

Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. 
The thorny ground is sure to balk 

All hopes of harvest there ; 
We find a tall and sickly stalk, 

But not the fruitful ear. 
The beaten path and highway side 

Receive the trust in vain ; 
The watchful birds the spoil divide, 

And pick up all the grain. 



OLJTEY HYMHS. 2iZ 



But where the Lord of grace and power 
Has bless'd the happy field, 

How plenteous is the golden store 
The deep-wrought furrows yield ! 

Father of mercies, we have need 

Of thy preparing grace ; 
Let the same hand that gives the seed 

Provide a fruitful place. 



XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER. —Mark xi. 17. 

Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, 

Lord, thy dwelling-place secure ! 
Bid the unruly throng depart, 

And leave the consecrated door. 

Devoted as it is to thee, 

A thievish swarm frequents the place ; 
They steal away my joys from me, 

And rob my Saviour of his praise. 

There, too, a sharp designing trade 
Sin, Satan, and the world maintain ; 

Nor cease to press me, and persuade 
To part with ease, and purchase pain. 

I know them, and I hate their din, 
Am weary of the hustling crowd ; 
But while their voice is heard within, 

1 cannot serve thee as I would. 

Oh for the joy thy presence gives, 
What peace shall reign when thou art here ! 

Thy presence makes this den of thieves 
A calm delightful house of prayer. 

And if thou make thy temple shine, 

Yet self-abased, will I adore; 
The gold and silver are not mine, 

I give thee what was thine before. 



XVIII. LOVEST THOU ME !— John xxi. 16. 

Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord : 
'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word ; 
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee : 
u Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ) 

" I deliver'd thee when bound, 
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound ; 
Sought thee wandering, set thee right. 
n'd thy darkness into light. 

1 ' Can a woman's tender care 
Cease towards the child she bare ? 
Yes, she may forgetful be, 
Yet will I remember thee. 



244 COWPER S POEMS. 

" Mine is an unchanging love, 
Higher than the heights above ; 
Deeper than the depths beneattu 
Free and faithful, strong as death. 

" Thou shalt see my glory soon, 
When the work of grace is done ; 
Partner of my throne shalt be : — 
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?" 

Lord, it is my chief complaint, 
That my love is weak and faint ; 
Yet I love thee and adore : 
Oh for grace to love thee more ! 



XIX. CONTENTMENT.— PHiLffPiAxs iv. 11. 

Fierce passions discompose the mind, 

As tempests vex the sea : 
But calm content and peace we find, 

"When, Lord, we turn to thee. 

In vain by reason and by rule 

We try to bend the will ; 
For none but in the Saviour's school 

Can learn the heavenly skill. 

Since at his feet my soul has Si 

His gracious words to hear, 
Contented with my present state, 

I cast on him my care. 

" Art thou a sinner, soul ] " he said, 
" Then how canst thou complain 1 

How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd 
With everlasting pain! 

" If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured, 
Compare thy griefs with mine ; 

Think what my love for thee endured, 
And thou wilt not repine. 

" 'Tis I appoint thy daily lot, 

And I do all things well ; 
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot, 

And rise with me to dwell. 

" In life my grace shall strength supply, 

Proportion'd to thy day ; 
At death thou still shalt find me nigh, 

To wipe thy tears away." 

Thus I, who once my wretched days 

In vain repinings spent, 
Taught in my Saviour's school of graoe, 

Have learnt to be content. 



OLNET HYMNS. 245 



XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL.— Hebrews iv. 2. 

Israel, in ancient days, 

Not only had a view 
Of Sinai in a blaze, 

But Iftarn'd the (iospel too ; 
The types and figures were a glass 
In which they saw a Saviour's face. 

The paschal sacrifice, 

And blood-besprinkled door,* 
Seen with enlighten'd eyes, 
And once applied with power, 
Would teach the need of other blood, 
To reconcile an angry God. 

The Lamb, the Dove, set forth 

His perfect mnocence,f" 
Whose blood of matchless worth 
Should be the soul's defence ; 
For he who can for sin atone, 
Must have no failings of his own, 

The scape-goat on his head £ 

The people's trespass bore, 

And, to the desert led, 

Was to be seen no more : 

In him our Surety seem'd to say, 

" Behold, I bear your sins away.'' 

Dipt in his fellow's blood, 

The living bird went free ; § 
The type, well understood, 
Express'd the sinner's plea ; 
Described a guilty soul enlarged, 
And by a Saviour's death discharged, 

Jesus, I love to trace, 

Throughout the sacred page, 
The footsteps of thy grace, 
The same in every age ! 
grant that I may faithful be 
To clearer light vouchsafed to inc I 



XXI. SARDIS— Revelation iii. 1-6, 

" Write to Sardis/' saith the Lord, 

And write what he declares, 
He whose Spirit, and whose word, 

Upholds the seven stars : 
" All thy works and ways I search, 

Find thy zeal and love decay'd : 
Thou art call'd a living church, 

But thou art cold and dead. 

* Exodus xii. 13. t Leviticus xii. 6. I Leviticus xvi 3 
§ Leviticus xiv. 51-53. 



246 COWPER S POEMS. 



" Watch, remember, seek, and strive, 

Exert thy former pains ; 
Let thy timely care revive, 

And strengthen what remains : 
Cleanse thine heart, thy works amend 

Former times to mind recall, 
Lest my sudden stroke descend, 

And smite thee once for all. 

" Yet I number now in thee 

A few that are upright ; 
These my Father's face shall see, 

And walk with me in white. 
When in judgment I appear, 

They for mine shall be confest ; 
Let my faithful servants hear, 

And woe be to the rest 1" 



XXII. PRAYER FOR A BLESSING ON THE YOUNft. 

Bestow, dear Lord, upon our youth 

The gift of saving grace ; 
And let the seed of sacred truth 

Fall in a fruitful place. 

Grace is a plant, where'er it grows, 

Of pure and heavenly root ; 
But fairest in the youngest shows, 

And yields the sweetest fruit. 

Ye careless ones, hear betimes 
. The voice of sovereign love ! 
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes, 
But mercy reigns above. 

True, you are young, but there's a stone 

Within the youngest breast ; 
Or half the crimes which you have done 

Would rob you of your rest. 

For you the public prayer is made, 

Oh ! join the public prayer ! 
For you the secret tear is shed, 

Oh ! shed yourselves a tear ! 

We pray that you may early prove 

The Spirit's power to teach ; 
You cannot be too young to love 

That Jesus whom we preach. 



XXITI. PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH. 

Sin has undone our wretched race, 

But Jesus has restored, 
And brought the sinner face to face 

With his forgiving Lord. 



OLNEY HYMNS. 24? 



This we repeat, from year to year, 
And press upon our youth ; 

Lord, give them an attentive ear, 
Lord, save them by thy truth. 

Blessings upon the rising race ! 

Make this a happy hour, 
According to thy richest grace, 

And thine almighty power. 

We feel for your unhappy state 

(May you regard it too), 
And would awhile ourselves forge 

To pour out prayer for you. 

"We see, though you perceive it not, 
The approaching awful doom ; 

tremble at the solemn thought, 
And flee the wrath to come ! 

Dear Saviour, let this new-born ye&z 
Spread an alarm abroad ; 

And cry in every careless ear, 
" Prepare to meet thy God!" 



XXIV. PRAYER FOR CHILDREN 

Gracious Lord, our children see, 
By thy mercy we are free ; 
But shall these, alas ! remain 
Subjects still of Satan's reign % 
Israel's young ones, when of old 
Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold, * 
Then thy messeDger said, u No ; 
Let the children also go." 

When the angel of the Lord, 
Drawing forth his dreadful sword, 
Slew, with an avenging hand, 
All the first-born of the land yY 
Then thy people's doors he pass'd, 
Where the bloody sign was placed ; 
Hear us, now, upon our knees, 
Plead the blood of Christ for these ? 

Lord, we tremble, for we know 
How the fierce malicious foe, 
Wheeling round his watchful flight, 
Keeps them ever in his sight : 
Spread thy pinions, King of kings! 
Hide them safe beneath thy wings ; 
Lest the ravenous bird of prey 
Stoop, and bear the brood away. 

* Exodus x. 9. f Exodus xii. 12. 



248 C0WPER S POEMS. 



XXV. JEHOVAH JESUS. 

Mr song shall bless the Lord of all, 

My praise shall climb to his abode ; 
Thee, Saviour, by that name I call, 

The great Supreme, the mighty God. 
Without beginning or decline, 

Object of faith, and not of sense ; 
Eternal ages saw him shine, 

He shines eternal ages hence. 
As much, when in the manger laid, 

Almighty ruler of the sky, 
As when the six days' works he made 

FilFd all the morning stars with joy. 
Of all the crowns Jehovah bears, 

Salvation is his dearest claim ; 
That gracious sound well pleased he hears, 

And owns Emmanuel for his name. 
A cheerful confidence I feel, 

My well-placed hopes with joy I see ; 
My bosom glows with heavenly zeal, 

To worship him who died for me. 
As man, he pities my complaint. 

His power and truth are all divine ; 
He will not fail, he cannot faint, 

Salvation's sure, and must be mine. 



XXVI. ON OPENING A PLACE FOR SOCIAL PRAYEE* 

Jesus ! where'er thy people meet, 
There they behold thy mercy seat ; 
Where'er they seek thee, thou art found, 
And every place is hallow'd ground. 
For thou, within no walls confined, 
Inhabitest the humble mind ; 
Such ever bring thee where they come, 
And going, take thee to their home. 
Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few ! 
Thy former mercies here renew ; 
Here to our waiting hearts proclaim 
The sweetness of thy saving name. 
Here may we prove the power of prayer, 
To strengthen faith and sweeten care ; 
To teach our faint desires to rise, 
And bring all heaven before our eyes. 
Behold, at thy commanding word 
We stretch the curtain and the cord ;* 
Gome thou and fill this wider space, 
And bless us with a large increase. 

* Isaiah liy. Si. 



OLKEI HTMSS. 249 



Lord, we are few, but thou art near ; 
Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear ; 
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down, 
And make a thousand hearts thine own ! 



XXVII. WELCOME TO THE TABLE. 

This is the feast of heavenly wine, 

And God invites to sup ; 
The juices of the living vine 

Were press'd to fill the cup. 
Oh! bless the Saviour, ye that eat, 

With royal dainties fed ; 
Not heaven affords a costlier treat, 

For Jesus is the bread. 
The vile, the lost, he calls to them, 

Ye trembling souls, appear ! 
The righteous in their own esteem 

Have no acceptance here. 
Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse 

The banquet spread for you ; 
Dear Saviour, this is welccme news, 

Then I may venture too. 
If guilt and sin afford a plea, 

And may obtain a place, 
Surely the Lord will welcome me, 

And I shall see his face. 



XXVm. JESUS HASTING TO SUFFfcB. 

The Saviour, what a noble flame 

Was kindled in Ms breast, 
When hasting to Jerusalem, 

He march'd before the rest- 
Good-will to men and zeal for God 

His every thought engross ; 
He longs to be baptized with blood,* 

He pants to reach the cross ! 
With all his sufferings full in view ? 

And woes to us unknown, 
Forth to the task his spirit flew ; 

'Twas love that urged him on. 
Lord, we return thee what we can : 

Our hearts shall sound abroad 
Salvation to the dying Man, 

And to the rising God ! 
And while thy bleeding glories here 

Engage our wondering eyes, 
We learn our lighter cross to bear, 

And hasten to the skies. 

* Luke xii 



250 cowper's poems. 



XXIX. EXHORTATION TO PRATER. 

What various hindrances we meet 
In coming to a mercy-seat! 
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer, 
But wishes to be often there] 

Prayer makes the darken'd cloud withdraw, 
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw, 
Grives exercise to faith and love, 
Brings every blessing from above. 

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight, 
Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright ; 
And Satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. 

While Moses stood with arms spread wide, 
Success was found on Israel's side; 
But when through weariness they fail'd, 
That moment Amalek prevail'd.* 

Have you no words ] Ah ! think again, 
Words flow apace when you complain, 
And fill your fellow-creature's ear 
With the sad tale of all your care. 

Were half the breath thus vainly spent 
To Heaven in supplication sent, 
Your cheerful song would oftener be, 
" Hear what the Lord Has done for me." 



XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THE WORD. 

The Spirit breathes upon the Word, 

And brings the truth to sight ; 
Precepts and promises afford 

A sanctifying light. 
A glory gilds the sacred page, 

Majestic like the sun ; 
It gives a light to every age, 

It gives, but borrows none. 
The hand that gave it still supplies 

The gracious light and heat : 
His truths upon the nations rise, 

They rise, but never set. 

Let everlasting thanks be thine, 

For such a bright display, 
As makes a world of darkness shine 

With beams of heavenly day. 

My soul rejoices to pursue 

The steps of him I love, 
Till glory breaks upon my view 

In brighter worlds above. 

* Exodus XTil. 11 



0LXEY HYMNS. 251 



XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER. 

His master taken from his head, 

Elisha saw him go ; 
And in desponding accents said, 

" Ah, what must Israel do V* 

But he forgot the Lord who lifts 

The beggar to the throne ; 
Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts 

Will soon he made his own. 

What ! when a Paul has run his course, 

Or when Apollos dies, 
Is Israel left without resource ] 

And have we no supplies ] 

Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives 
We have a boundless store, 

And shall be fed with what he gives, 
Who lives for evermore. 



XXXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT. 

My former hopes are fled, 

My teiTor now begins ; 
I feel, alas ! that I am dead 

In trespasses and sins. 

Ah, whither shall I fly? 

I hear the thunder roar ; 
The law proclaims destruction nigh, 

And vengeance at the door. 

When I review my ways, 
I dread impending doom : 

But sure a friendly whisper says, 
" Flee from the wrath to come." 

I see, or think I see, 
A glimmering from afar ; 

A beam of day, that shines for me, 
To save me from despair. 

Forerunner of the sun,* 

It marks the pilgrim's way ; 

I'll gaze upon it while I run, 
And watch the rising day. 



XXXIII. SEEKING THE BELOVED. 

To those who know the Lord I si 

Is my beloved near ] 
The bridegroom of my soul I seek, 

Oh ! when will he appear ? 



252 cowper's poems. 



Though once a man of grief and shame, 

Yet now he fills a throne, 
And bears the greatest, sweetest name, 

That earth or heaven has known. 

Grace flies before, and love attends 

His steps where'er he goes ; 
Though none can see him but his friends, 

And they were once his foes. 

He speaks — obedient to his call, 

Our warm affections move : 
Did he but shine alike on all, 

Then all alike would love. 

Then love in every heart would reign, 
And war would cease to roar ; 

And cruel and bloodthirsty men 
Would thirst for blood no more. 

Such Jesus is, and such his grace, 

Oh, may he shine on you ! 
And tell him, when you see his face, 

I long to see him too.* 



XXXIV. THE WAITING SOUL. 

Breathe from the gentle south, Lord, 
And cheer me from the north ; 

Blow on the treasures of thy word, 
And call the spices forth ! 

I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd, 

And wait with patient hope ; 
But hope delay'd fatigues the mind, 

And drinks the spirit up. 

Help me to reach the distant goal, 

Confirm my feeble knee ; 
Pity the sickness of a soul 

That faints for love of thee. 

Cold as I feel this heart of mine, 

Yet, since I feel it so, 
It yields some hope of life divine 

Within, however low. . 

I seem forsaken and alone, 

I hear the lion roar ; 
And ev'ry door is shut but ose, 

And that is mercy's door. 

There, till the dear Deliv'rer eora© 5 
I'll wait with humble pray'r; 

And when he calls his exile home, 
The Lord shall find me there. 

* Canticles V. 8. 



01XEY HYMNS. 253 



XXXV. WELCOME CROSS. 

'Tis my happiness below 

Not to live without the cross, 
But the Saviour's power to know . 

Sanctifying every loss : 
Trials must and will befall ; 

But with humble faith to see 
Love inscribed upon them all. 

This is happiness to me. 

God in Israel sows the seeds 

Of affliction., pain, and toil ; 
These spring up and choke the weeds 

Which would else o'erspread the soil : 
Trials make the promise sweet, 

Trials give new life to prayer \ 
Trials bring me to his feet, 

Lay me low, and keep me there. 

Did I meet no trials here, 

No chastisement by the way : 
Might I not, with reason, fear 

I should prove a castaway 1 
Bastards may escape the rod,* 

Sunk in earthly, vain delight ; 
But the true bom child of God 

Must not, would not, if he might. 



XXXVI. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THE WOBD. 

how I love thy holy word, 
Thy gracious covenant, Lord ! 
It guides me in the peaceful way ; 

1 think upon it all the day. 

What are the mines of shining wealth, 
The strength of youth, the bloom of health ! 
What are all joys compared with those 
Thine everlasting word bestowal 

Long unafflieted, undismay'd, 
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd ; 
Thou madest me feel thy chastening rod,f 
And straight I turn'd unto my God. 

Wr at though it pierced my fainting hearty 
I bless thine hand that caused the smart % 
It taught my tears awhile to flow, 
But saved me from eternal woe. 

Oh ! hadst thou left me unchastised, 
Thy precept I had still despised; 
And still the snare in secret laid, 
Had my unwary feet betray'd. 

* Hebrews xil 8. salm cartx. 7L 



254 C0WPERS POEMS. 



I love thee, therefore, my God, 
And breathe towards thy dear abode; 
Where, in thy presence fully blest, 
1'ny chosen saints for ever rest. 



XXXVII. TEMPTATION. 

The billows swell, the winds are high, 

Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; 

Out of the depths to thee I call, — 

My fears are great, my strength is small. 

Lord, the pilot's part perform, 

And guard and guide me through the storm, 

Defend me from' each threatening ill, 

Control the waves, — say, " Peace, be still." 

Amidst the roaring of the sea. 

My soul still hangs her hope on thee ; 

Thy constant love, thy faithful care, 

Is all that saves me from despair. 

Dangers of every shape and name 

Attend the followers of the Lamb, 

Who leave the world's deceitful shore, 

And leave it to return no more. 

Though tempest-toss'd and half a wreck, 

My Saviour through the floods I seek ; 

Let neither winds nor stormy main 

Force back my shatter'd bark again. 



XXXVIII. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM. 

God of my life, to thee I call, 
Afflicted at thy feet I fall ; 
When the great water-floods prevail,* 
Leave not my trembling heart to fail ! 
Friend of the friendless and the faint ! 
Where should I lodge my deep complaint \ 
Where but with thee, whose open door 
Invites the helpless and the poor ! 
Did ever mourner plead with thee, 
And thou refuse that mourner's plea % 
Does not the word still fix'd remain, 
That none shall seek thy face in vain 1 
That were a grief I could not bear, 
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer s 
But a prayer-hearing, answering God, 
Supports me under every load. 
Fair is the lot that's cast for me ; 
I have an Advocate with thee ; 
They whom the world caresses most 
Have no such privilege to boast. 

* Psalm lxix. 1& 



OLNEY HYMNS. 255 



Poor though I am, despised, forgot,* 
Yet God, my God, forgets me not : 
And he is safe, and must succeed, 
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead. 



XXXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 

My soul is sad, and much dismay'd, 

See, Lord, what legions of my foes, 
With fierce Apollyon at their head, 

My heavenly pilgrimage oppose I 
See, from the ever-burning lake 

How like a smoky cloud they rise ! 
With horrid blasts my soul they shake. 

With storms of blasphemies and lies. 
Their fiery arrows reach the mark, f 

My throbbing heart with anguish tear ; 
Each lights upon a kindred spark, 

And finds abundant fuel there. 
I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord ; 

Oh ! I would drive it from my breast, 
With thy own sharp two-edged sword, 

Far as the east is from the west. 
Come, then, and chase the cruel host, 

Heal the deep wounds I have received ! 
Nor let the powers of darkness boast, 

That I am foil'd, and thou art grieved ! 



XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM. 

When darkness long has veil'd my mind, 

And smiling day once more appears ; 
Then, my Redeemer, then I find 

The folly of my doubts and fears. 
Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, 

And blush that I should ever be 
Thus prone to act so base a part, 

Or harbour one hard thought of thee \ 
Oh ! let me then at length be taught 

What I am still so slow to learn ; 
That God is love, and changes not, 

Nor knows the shadow of a turn. 
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! 

But, when my faith is sharply tried, 
I find myself a learner yet, 

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. 
But, my Lord, one look from thee 

Subdues the disobedient will ; 
Drives doubt and discontent away, 

And thy rebellious worm is still. 

* Fsalm xl. 17. f Ephesians vi. 16. 



256 COWPER S POEMS. 



Thou art as ready to forgive 

As I am ready to repine; 
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive ; 

Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. 



XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING. 

The Saviour hides his face ! 
My spirit thirsts to prove 
Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace, 
And never-fading love. 

The favourM souls who know 
What glories shine in him, 
Pant for his presence as the roe 
Pants for the living stream ? 

What trifles tease me now ! ^ 
They swarm like summer flies, 
They cleave to everything I do, 
And swim before my eyes. 

How dull the Sabbath-day, 
Without the Sabbath's Lord ! 
How toilsome then to sing and pray, 
And wait upon the word ! 

Of all the truths I hear, 
How few delight my taste ! 
I glean a berry here and there, 
But mourn the vintage past. 

Yet let me (as I ought) 

Still hope to be supplied ; 
No pleasure else is worth a thought, 

Nor shall I be denied. 

Though I am but. a worm, 

Unworthy of his care, 
The Lord will my desire perform, 

And grant me all my prayer. 



XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE. 

Dear Lord ! accept a sinful heart, 

Which of itself complains, 
And mourns, with much and frequent smart, 

The evil it contains. 

There fiery seeds of anger lurk, 

Which often hurt my frame ; 
And wait but for the tempter's work, 

To fan them to a flame. 

Legality holds out a bribe 

To purchase life from thee ; 
And discontent would fain prescribe 

How thou shalt deal with me. 



CLNEY HYMNS. 257 



While unbelief withstands thy grace, 

And puts the mercy by; 
Presumption, with a brow of brass, 

Says, " Give me, or I die/' 

How eager are my thoughts to roam 
In quest of what they love ! 

But ah ! when duty calls them home, 
How heavily they move ! 

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood, 
Transform me by thy power, 

And make me thy beloved abode, 
And let me rove no more. 



XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE. 

Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me, 

My peace and pardon to procure, 
The lighter cross I bear for thee, 

Help me with patience to endure. 

The storm of loud repining hush, 
I would in humble silence mourn ; 

Why should the unburnt though burning bush, 
Be angry as the crackling thorn ] 

Man should not faint at thy rebuke, 

Like Joshua falling on his face,* 
When the curst thing that Achan took 

Brought Israel into just disgrace. 

Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, 

Some secret sin offends my God ; 
Perhaps that Babylonish vest, 

Self-righteousness, provokes the rod. 

Ah ! were I buffeted all day, 

Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon; 
I yet should have no right to say, 

My great distress is mine alone. 

Let me not angrily declare 
No pain was ever sharp like mine ; 

Nor murmur at the cross I bear, 
But rather weep, remembering thine. 



XLIV. SUBMISSION. 

Lord, my best desire fulfil, 

And help me to resign 
Life, health, and comfort to thy will, 

And make thy pleasure mine. 

♦Joshua rii. 10, 1L 



258 cowper's poems. 



Why should I shrink at thy command, 
Whose love forbids my fears 1 

Or tremble at the gracious hand 
That wipes away my tears 1 

No, let me rather freely yield 
What most I prize to thee ; 

Who never hast a good withheld, 
Or wilt withhold, from me. 

Thy favour, all my journey through, 
Thou art engaged to grant ; 

What else I want, or think I do, 
'Tis better still to want. 

Wisdom and mercy guide my way, 

Shall I resist them both ] 
A poor blind creature of a day, 

And crush'd before the moth ! 

But ah ! my inward spirit cries, 

Still bind me to thy sway; 
Else the next cloud that veils the skies, 

Drives all these thoughts away. 



XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE. 

How blest thy creature is, God, 

When, with a single eye, 
He views the lustre of thy word, 

The dayspring from on high ! 

Through all the storms that veil the skies, 

And frown on earthly things, 
The Sun of Righteousness he eyes, 

With healing on his wings. 

Struck by that light, the human heart, 

A barren soil no more, 
Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad 

Where serpents lurk'd before. * 

The soul a dreary province once 

Of Satan's dark domain, 
Feels a new empire form'd within, 

And owns a heavenly reign. 

The glorious orb, whose golden beams 

The fruitful year control, 
Since first, obedient to thy word, 

He started from the goal; 

Has cheer'd the nations with the joys 

His orient rays impart ; 
But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone 

Can shine upon the heart. 

• Isaiah szzy. 7. 



OLNEY HYMNS. 25S 



XL VI. RETIREMENT. 

Far from the world, Lord, I flee, 

From strife and tumult far ; 
From scenes where Satan wages still 

His most successful war. 

The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With prayer and praise agree ; 

And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
For those who follow thee. 

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, 

And grace her mean abode, 
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, 

She communes with her Gfod! 

There like the nightingale she pours 

Her solitary lays ; 
Nor asks a witness of her song, 

Nor thirsts for human praise. 

Author and Guardian of my life, 
Sweet source of light divine, 

And (all harmonious names in one) 
My Saviour, thou art mine ! 

What thanks I owe thee, and what love, 

A boundless, endless store, 
Shall echo through the realms above 

When time shall be no more. 



XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE. 

To tell the Saviour all my wants, 

How pleasing is the task ! 
Nor less to praise him when he grants 

Beyond what I can ask. 

My labouring spirit vainly seeks 

To tell but half the joy ; 
With how much tenderness he speaks, 

And helps me to reply. 

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose, 

Such secrets to declare ; 
Like precious wines, their tastes they lose, 

Exposed to open air. 

But this with boldness I proclaim, 

Nor care if thousands hear, 
Sweet is the ointment of his name, 

Not life is half so dear. 

And can you frown, my former friends, 

Who knew what once I was ; 
And blame the song that thus commends 

The Man who bore the cross ] 



260 COWPER'S POEMS. 



Trust me, I draw the likeness true, 
And not as fancy paints ; 

Such honour may he give to you, 
For such have all his saints. 



&LVIII. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING. 

Sometimes a light surprises 

The Christian while he sings ; 
It is the Lord who rises 

With healing in his wings : 
When comforts are declining, 

He grants the soul again 
A season of clear shining, 

To cheer it after rain. 

In holy contemplation, 

We sweetly then pursue 
The theme of Grod's salvation. 

And find it ever new. 
Set free from present sorrow, 

We cheerfully can say, 
E'en let the unknown to-morrow * 

Bring with it what it may. 

It can bring with it nothing, 

But he will bear us through ; 
Who gives the lilies clothing, 

Will clothe his people too ; 
Beneath the spreading heavens 

No creature but is fed ; 
And he who feeds the ravens, 

Will give his children bread. 

The vine nor fig-tree neither + 

Their wonted fruit should bear, 
Though all the fields should withe r, 

Nor flocks nor herds be there : 
Yet Gfod the same abiding, 

His praise shall tune my voice ; 
For, while in him confiding, 

I cannot but rejoice. 



XLIX. TRUE PLEASURES. 

Lord, my soul with pleasure spring?* 

When Jesus' name I hear; 
And when Grod the Spirit brings 

The word of promise near : 
Beauties too, in holiness, 

Still delighted I perceive ; 
Nor have words that can express 

The joys thy precepts give. 

« Matthew Ti. 34. t Habakkuk iii. 17. IS- 



OLFET HYMNS. 261 



Clothed in sanctity and grace, 

How sweet it is to see 
Those who love thee as they pass., 

Or when they wait on thee*: 
Pleasant too, to sit and tell 

What we owe to love divine ; 
Till our bosoms grateful swell, 

And eyes begin to shine. 
Those the comforts I possess, 

Which God shall still inci = 
All his ways are pleasantness,* 

And all his paths are peace. 
Nothing Jesus did or spoke, 

Henceforth let me ever slight ; 
For I love his easy yoke,+ 

And find his burden light. 



L. THE CHRISTIAN. 

Honour and happiness unite 

To make the Christian's name a praise ', 
How fair the scene, how clear the light, 

That fills the remnant of his days ! 
A kingly character he bears, 

No change his priestly office knows ; 
Unfading is the crown he wears. 

His joys can never reach a close. 
Adorn'd with glory from on high, 

Salvation shines upon his face ; 
His robe is of the ethereal dye, 

His steps are dignity and grace. 
Inferior honours he disdains, 

Nor stoops to take applause from earth : 
The King of kings himself maintains 

The expenses of his heavenly birth. 
The noblest creature seen below, 

Ordain'd to fill a throne above ; 
God gives him all he can bestow, 

His kingdom of eternal love. 
My soul is ravish'd at the thought ! 

Methinks from earth I see him rise ! 
Angels congratulate his lot, 

And shout him welcome to the skies ! 



LI. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAB, 

I was a grovelling creature once, 

And basely cleaved to earth ; 
I wanted spirit to renounce 

The clod that gave me birth. 

* Proverbs iii 17. f Matthew xi. 30. 



2G2 COWPER S POEMS. 

But God has breatlied upon a worm, 

And seat me, from above, 
Wings such as clothe an angel's form, 

The wings of joy and love. 
With these to Pisgah's top I fly, 

And there delighted stand, 
To view beneath a shining sky 

The spacious promised land. 
The Lord of all the vast domain 

Has promised it to me ; 
The length and breadth of all the plais, 

As far as faith can see. 
How glorious is my privilege ! 

To thee for help I call ; 
I stand upon a mountain's edge, 

Oh save me, lest I fall ! 
Though much exalted in the Lord, 

My strength is not my own ; 
Then let me tremble at his word, 

And none shall cast me down. 



LII. FOR THE POOR. 

When Hagar found the bottle spent, 

And wept o'er Ishmael, 
A message from the Lord was sent 

To guide her to a well. * 
Should not Elijah's cake and cruse f 

Convince us at this day, 
A gracious Gfod will not refuse 

Provisions by the way ] 
His saints and servants shall be fed, 

The promise is secure ; 
" Bread shall be given them," he has said, 

" Their water shall be sure." £ 

Repasts far richer they shall prove, 

Than all earth's dainties are ; 
'Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love, 

Though in the meanest fare. 
To Jesus then your trouble bring, 

Nor murmur at your lot ; 
While you are poor and he is King, 

You shall not be forgot. 



LIII. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD. 

I thikst, but not as once I did, 
The vain delights of earth to share ; 

Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid 
That I should seek my pleasures there. 

s Genesis xxi. 19. f 1 Kings xvii. It 1 Isaiah xsxiii. 16 



OLNET HYMNS. 263 

It was the sight of thy dear cross 

First wean'd my soul from earthly things , 
And taught me to esteem as dross 

The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. 
I want that grace that springs from thee, 

That quickens all things where it flows, 
And makes a wretched thorn like me 

Bloom as the myrtle or the rose. 
Dear fountain of delight unknown ! 

No longer sink below the brim ; 
But overflow, and pour me down 

A living and life-giving stream ! 
For sure, of all the plants that share 

The notice of thy Father's eye, 
None proves less grateful to his care, 

Or yields him meaner fruit than I. 



LIV. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE. 

No strength of nature can suffice 

To serve the Lord aright : 
And what she has she misapplies, 

For want of clearer light. 
How long beneath the law I lay 

In bondage and distress ! 
I toil'd the precept to obey, 

But toil'd without success. 
Then, to abstain from outward sin 

Was more than I could do ; 
Now, if I feel its power within, 

I feel I hate it too. 
Then, all my servile works were done 

A righteousness to raise ; 
Now, freely chosen in the Son, 

I freely choose his ways. 
" What shall I do," was then the word, 

" That I may worthier grow]" 
" What shall I render to the Lord]" 

Is my inquiry now. 

To see the law by Christ fulfill'd, 
And hear his pardoning voice, 

Changes a slave into a child,* 
And duty into choice. 



LV THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED BY MERCY. 

Sin enslaved me many years, 

And led me bound and blind ; 
Till at length a thousand fears 

Came swarming o'er my mind. 

* Romans iii. 31. 



264 C0WPER S POEMS. 



" Where/' I said, in deep distress, 
" Will these sinful pleasures end ? 

How shall I secure my peace, 
And make the Lord my friend 1" 

Friends and ministers said much 

The gospel to enforce ; 
But my blindness still was such, 

I chose a legal course : 
Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove. 

Scarce would show my face abroad, 
Fear'd almost to speak or move, 

A stranger still to God. 

Thu3 afraid to trust his grace, 

Long time did I rebel ; 
Till, despairing of my case, 

Down at his feet I fell . 
Then my stubborn heart he broke, 

And subdued me to his sway ; 
By a simple word he spoke, 

" Thy sins are done away." 



LVI. HATRED OF SIN. 

Holy Lord Grod ! I love thy truth, 
Nor dare thy least commandment slight ; 

Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth, 
I mourn the anguish of the bite. 

But, though the poison lurks within, 
Hope bids me still with patience wait ; 

Till death shall set me free from sin, 
Free from the only thing I hate. 

Had I a throne above the rest, 

Where angels and archangels dwell, 

One sin, unslain, within my breast, 
Would make that heaven as dark as hell. 

The prisoner, sent to breathe fresh air, 
And bless'd with liberty again, 

Would mourn, were he condemned to wear 
One link of all his former chain. 

But, oh ! no foe invades the bliss, 
When glory crowns the Christian's head ; 

One view of Jesus as he is 
Will strike all sin for ever dead. 



LVII. THE NEW CONVERT. 

The new-born child of gospel grace, 
Like some fair tree when summer's nig 

Beneath Emmanuel's shining face 
Lifts up his blooming branch on high. 



OLNEY HYMNS. 265 



No fears he feels, lie sees no foes, 

No conflict yet his faith employs, 
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes 

The strength and peace his soul enjoys. 
But sin soon darts its cruel sting, 

And comforts sinking day by day : 
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring, 

Proves but a brook that glides away. 
When Gideon armM his numerous host, 

The Lord soon made his numbers less; 
And said, " Lest Israel vainly boast,* 

1 My arm procured me this success/ " 
Thus will he bring our spirits down, 

And draw our ebbing comforts low, 
That, saved by grace, but not our own, 

We may not claim the praise we owe. 



LVm. TRUE AXD FALSE COMFOBTS. 

God, whose favourable eye 

The sin-sick soul revives, 
floly and heavenly is the joy 

Thy shining presence gives. 
Not such as hypocrites suppose, 

Who with a graceless heart 
Taste not of thee, but drink a dose, 

Prepared by Satan's art. 
Intoxicating joys are theirs, 

Who, while they boast their light. 
And seem to soar above the stars, 

Are plunging into night. 
LulPd in a, soft and fatal sleep, 

They sin, and yet rejoice ; 
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep, 

Would they not hear his voice? 
Be mine the comforts that reclaim 

The soul from Satan's power ; 
That make me blush for what I am, 

And hate my sin the more. 
'Tis joy enough, my All in All, 

At thy dear feet to lie ; 
Thou wilt not let me lower fall, 

And none can higher fly. 



LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. 

The Lord receives his highest praise 
From humble minds and hearts sincere | 

While all the loud professor says 
Offends the righteous Judge's ear. 

* Judges rii. 2. 



2G6 COW PER* S POEiiS. 



To walk as children of the day, 
To mark the precepts' holy light, 

To wage the warfare, watch, and pray, 
Show who are pleasing in his sight. 

Not words alone it cost the Lord, 
To purchase pardon for his own ; 

Nor will a soul, by grace restored, 
Return the Saviour words alone. 

With golden bells, the priestly vest, 
And rich pomegranates border 'd round,* 

The £eed of holiness express'd, 

And call'd for fruit, as well as sound. 

Easy, indeed, it were to reach 
A mansion in the courts above, 

I f swelling words and fluent speech 
Might serve, instead of faith and love. 

Bat none shall gain the blissful place, 

Or God's unclouded glory see, 
Who talks of free and sovereign grace, 

Unless that grace has made him free I 



LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. 

Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace, 

In this licentious day ; 
And while they boast they see thy face, 

They turn their own away. 

Thy book displays a gracious light 

That can the blind restore; 
But these are dazzled by the sight, 

And blinded still the more. 

The pardon, such presume upon, 

They do not beg, but steal ; 
And when they plead it at thy throne, 

Oh ! where's the Spirit's seal ] 

Was it for this, ye lawless tribe, 

The dear Redeemer bled 1 
Is this the grace the saints imbibe 

From Christ the living head] 

Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few 

Are fed with heavenly fare ; 
But these, the wretched husks they chew 

Proclaim them what they are. 

The liberty our hearts implore 

Is not to live in sin ; 
But still to wait at wisdom's door 

Till mercy calls us in. 

* Exodus xxyiii. 33. 



OLNEY HYMNS. 267 



LXI. THE NARROW WAY. 

What thousands never knew the road! 

What thousands hate it when 'tis known i 
None but the chosen tribes of God 

Will seek or choose it for their own. 
A thousand ways in ruin end, 

One, only, leads to joys on high ; 
By that my willing steps ascend, 

Pleased with a journey to the sky. 
No more I ask, or hope to find, 

Delight or happiness below ; 
Sorrow may well possess the mind 

That feeds where thorns and thistles grew. 
The joy that fade3 is not for me, 

I seek immortal joys above; 
There glory without end shall be 

The bright reward of faith and love. 
Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, 

Contented lick your native dust, 
But God shall fight with all his storms 

Against the idol of your trust. 



LXII. DEPENDENCE. 

To keep the lamp alive, 

With oil we fill the bowl ; 
'Tis water makes the willow thrive, 

And grace that feeds the soul. 

The Lord's unsparing hand 

Supplies the living stream ; 
It is not at our own command, 

But still derived from him. 

Beware of Peter's word,* 

Nor confidently say, 
" I never will deny thee, Lord," 

But, " Grant I never may ! " 

Man's wisdom is to seek 

His strength in God alone ; 
And e'en an angel would be weak, 

Who trusted in his own. 

Retreat beneath his wings, 

And in his grace confide ; 
This more exalts the King of kings + 

Than all your works beside. 

In Jesus is our store, 

Grace issues from his throne ; 
Whoever says, " I want no more," 

Confesses he has none. 

Matthew xxvi. 33. t John ri. 29 



268 COWPER S POEMS. 



LXIII. NOT OF WORKS. 

Grace, triumphant in the throne, 
Scorns a rival, reigns alone ; 
Come and bow beneath her sway, 
Cast your idol works away. 
Works of man, when made his plea. 
Never shall accepted be ; 
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm !) 
Are the best he can perform. 

Self, the god his soul adores, 
Influences all his powers ; 
Jesus is alighted name, 
Self-advancement all his aim : 
But when God the Judge shall como, 
To pronounce the final doom, 
Then for rocks and hills to hide 
All his works and all his pride ! 

Still the boasting heart replies, 
"What ! the worthy and the wise, 
Friends to temperance and peace, 
Have not these a righteousness ] 
Banish every vain pretence, 
Built on human excellence ; 
Perish every thing in man, 
But the grace that never can. 



LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. 

Of all the gifts thine hand bestows, 

Thou Giver of all good ! 
Not heaven itself a richer knows 

Than my Redeemer's blood. 

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, 

From the same hand we gain ; 
Else, sweetly as it suits our case, 

That gift had been in vain. 

Till thou thy teaching power apply. 

Our hearts refuse to see, 
And weak, as a distemper'd- eyo ? 

Shut out the view of thee. 

Blind to the merits of thy Son, 

What misery we endure ! 
Yet fly that hand from which alone 

We could expect a cure. 

We praise thee, and would praise thee moro, 

To thee our all we owe; 
The precious Saviour, and the power 

That makes him precious too. 



OLNEY HYMNS. 



LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. 

Almighty King ! whose wondrous hand 
Supports the weight of sea and land, 
Whose grace is such a boundless store, 
No heart shall break that sighs for more. 

Thy providence supplies my food, 
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good ; 
My soul is nourish'd by thy word, 
Let soul and body praise the Lord. 

My streams of outward comfort came 
From him who built this earthly frame : 
Whate'er I want his bounty gives, 
By whom my soul for ever lives. 

Either his hand preserves from pain, 
Or, if I feel it, heals again ; 
From Satan's malice shields my breast, 
Or overrules it for the best. 

Forgive the song that falls so low 
Beneath the gratitude I owe ! 
It means thy praise, however poor ; 
An angel's song can do no more. 



LXVL I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. 

Winter has a joy for me, 
While the Saviour's charms I read, 

Lowly, meek, from blemish free, 
In the snowdrop's pensive head. 

Spring returns, and brings along 

Life-invigorating suns : 
Hark ! the turtle's plaintive song 

Seems to speak his dying groans I 

Summer has a thousand charms, 

All expressive of his worth ; 
'7'is his sun that lights and warms, 

His the air that cools the earth. 

What ! has Autumn left to say 
Nothing of a Saviour's grace 1 

Yes, the beams of milder day 
Tell me of his smiling face. 

Light appears with early dawn, 
While the sun makes haste to rise : 

See his bleeding beauties drawn 
On the blushes of the skies. 

Evening with a silent pace, 

Slowly moving in the west, 
Shows an emblem of his grace, 

Points to an eternal rest. 



270 COWPERS POEMS. 



LXVII. LONGING TO BE WITH CHRIST 

To Jesus, the Crown of my hope, 
My soul is in haste to be gone : 

bear me, ye cherubim, up, 

And waft me away to his throne ! 

My Saviour, whom absent I love, 
Whom, not having seen, I adore ; 

Whose name is exalted above 
All glory, dominion, and power; 

Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain 
My soul from her portion in thee ; 

Ah ! strikers' this adamant chain, 
And make me eternally free. 

When that happy era begins, 
When array'd in thy glories I shine, 

Nor grieve any more, by my sins, 
The bosom on which I recline : 

Oh, then shall the veil be removed, 
And round me thy brightness be pour & 5 

1 shall meet him whom absent I loved, 
I shall see whom unseen I adored. 

And then, never more shall the fears, 
The trials, temptations, and woes, 

Which darken this valley of tears, 
Intrude on my blissful repose. 

Or, if yet remember'd above, 

Remembrance no sadness shall raise ; 

They will be but new signs of thy love, 
New themes for my wonder and praise. 

Thus the strokes which from sin and from pain 

Shall set me eternally free, 
Will but strengthen and rivet the chain 

Which binds me, my Saviour, to thee. 



LXVIII. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 
God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform ; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill, 
He treasures un his bright designs, 

And works his sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, 
The clouds ye so much dread 

Are big with mercy, and shall break 
In blessings on your head. 



OLKFT HYMNS. 271 



Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust him for his grace : 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err,* 
And scan his work in vain : 

God is his own interpreter, 
And he will make it plais 

John xiiL 7. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

Dear Joseph, — Five-and-twenty years ago— 
Alas, how time escapes ! — 'tis even so — 
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
And always friendly,, we were wont to cheat 
A tedious hour — and now we never meet! 
As some grave gentleman in Terence says 
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days)j 
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings— 
Strange fluctuation of all human things ! 
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part. 
But distance only cannot change the hearts 
And, were I call'd to prove the assertion true, 
One proof should serve— a reference to you. 

Whence comes it then, that, in the wane of life, 
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, 
We find the friends we fancied we had won, 
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? 
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch ? 
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. 

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, 
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, 
Dreading a negative, and overawed 
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 
Go, fellow! — whither? — turning short about— 
Nay — stay at home — you're always going out. 
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end. — 
For what 1 — An please you, sir, to see a friend. — 
A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart. 
And fetch my cloak ; for though the night be raw, 
I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 
And was his plaything often when a child ; 
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, 
Else he was seldom bitter or moiose. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 273 



Perhaps, Ms confidence just then betray'd, 
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made ; 
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth. 
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, 
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 

But not to moralise too much, and strain 
To prove an evil of which all complain 
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun); 
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, 
No matter where, in China or Japan, 
Decreed that whosoever should offend 
Against the well-known duties of a Mend, 
Conwlcted once, should ever after wear 
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. 
The punishment importing this, no doubt, 
That all was naught within, and all found out 

Oh, happy Britain! we have not to fear 
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
Else, could a law like that which I relate 
Once have the sanction of our triple state, 
S une few, that I have known in days of old, 
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,, 
Might traverse England safely to and fro, 
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, 
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within. 



TEE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK 121 

ESSEX. 

Verses addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining of the disagreeableneK f>f t&c 
day annuaUy appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage. 

Co^iE, ponder well, foi 'tis no jest, 

To laugh it would be wiling, 
The troubles of a worthy priest, 

The burden of my song. 

This priest he merry is and blithe 

Three quarters of a year : 
But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe, 

When tithing time draws near. 

He then is full of fright and fears, 

As one at point to die, 
And long before the day appears, 

He heaves up many a sigh. 

For then the farmers come jog, jog. 

Along the iniry road, 
Each heart as heavy as a log, 

To make their payments good* 



274 COWPER S POEMS. 



In sooth the sorrow of such days 

Is not to be express'd, 
When he that takes and he that pays 

Are both alike distressed. 

Now all unwelcome at his gates 

The clumsy swains alight, 
With rueful faces and bald pates — 

He trembles at the sight. 

And well he may, for well he knows 

Each bumpkin of the clan, 
Instead of paying what he owes, 

Will cheat him if he can. 
So in they come^-each makes his leg, 

And flings his head before, 
And looks as if he came to beg, 

And not to quit a score. 

" And how does miss and madam do, 

The little boy and all V 
" All tight and well. And how do you, 

Good Mr What-d'ye-calir 

The dinner comes, and down they sit ; 

Were e'er such hungry folk] 
There's little talking, and no wit ; 

It is no time to joke. 

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, 

One spits upon the floor, 
Yet, not to give offence or grieve, 

Holds up the cloth before. 

The punch goes round, and they are dtsll 

And lumpish still as ever ; 
Like barrels with their bellies full, 

They only weigh the heavier. 

At length the busy time begins, 

' ' Come, neighbours, we must wag "— - 

The money chinks, down drop their chin% 
Each lugging out his bag. 

One talks of mildew and of frost, 

And one of storms of hail, 
And one of pigs that he has lost 

JBy maggots at the tail. 

Quoth one, " A rarer man than you 

In pulpit none shall hear : 
But yet, methinks, to tell you truo ; 

You sell it plaguy dear." 

O why are farmers made so coarse, 

Or clergy made so fine 1 
A kick, that scarce would move a horco, 

May kill a sound divine. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Then let the boobies stay at home ; 

'T would cost him, I dare say, 
Less trouble taking twice the sum 

Without the clowns that pay. 



SONNET, 



ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ, 

Oa bia emphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of Warren 

Hastings, Esq., in the House of Lords. 

Cowper, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard, 

Legends prolix delivers in the ears 

(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, 
Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. 

Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, 
Expending late on all that length of plea 
Thy generous powers, but silence honour'd thee, 

Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. 

Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside 
Both heart and head ; and couldst with music sweet 
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, 
like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide 
Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet 
Of others' speech, but magic of thy own. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO DR DARWIN, 

AUTHOR OP "THE BOTANIC GARDEN." 

Two Poets* (poets, by report, 

Not oft so well agree), 
Sweet harmonist of Flora's court ! 

Conspire to honour thee. 

They best can judge a poet's w6rth, 
Who oft themselves have known 

The pangs of a poetic birth 
By labours of their own. 

We therefore pleased, extol thy song, 
Though various, yet complete, 

Rich in embellishment as strong, 
And learned as 'tis sweet. 

No envy mingles with our praise, 
Though, could our hearts repine 

At any poet's happier lays, 

They would — they must at thine. 

But we, in mutual bondage knit 

Of friendship's closest tie, 
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit 

With an unjaundiced eye; 

• AUnding to the poem by Mr Hayley, which accompanied these lines. 



-76 COOPER'S FOE218. 



And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be, 

And howsoever known, 
AY ho would not twine a wreath for thee 

Unworthy of his own. 



ON MRS MONTAGU'S FEATHER.IIANGING3. 

The birds put off their every hue 
To dress a room for Montagu. 

The peacock sends his heavenly dyes, 
His rainbows and his starry eyes ; 
The pheasant plumes, which round enfold 
His mantling neck with downy gold ; 
The cock his arch'd tail's azure show ; 
And, river-blanch'd, the swan his snow. 
All tribes beside of Indian name, 
That glossy shine, or vivid flame, 
Where rises, and where sets the day, 
Whatever they boast of rich and gay, 
Contribute to the gorgeous plan, 
Proud to advance it all they can. 
This plumage neither dashing shower, 
ft or blasts, that shake the dripping bower, 
Shall drench again or discompose, 
But, screen'd from every storm that blows, 
It boasts a splendour ever new, 
Safe with protecting Montagu. 

To the same patroness resort, 
Secure of favour at her court, 
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought 
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, 
Which, though new-born, with vigour move 
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove — 
Imagination scattering round 
Wild roses over furrow'd ground. 
Which Labour of his frown beguile, 
And teach Philosophy a smile — 
Wit flashing on Religion's side, 
Whose fires, to sacred truth applied, 
The gem, though luminous before, 
Obtrude on human notice more, 
Like sunbeams on the golden height 
Of some tall temple playing bright — 
Well tutor 'd Learning, from his books 
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks-. 
Their order on his shelves exact, 
Not more harmonious or compact 
Than that to which he keeps confined 
The various treasures of his mind — 
All these to Montagu's repair, 
Ambitious of a shelter there. 
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, 
Their ruffled plumage calm refit 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 271 

(For stormy troubles loudest roar 
Around their night who highest soar), 
And in her eye, and by her aid, 
Shine safe without a fear to fade. 

She thus maintains divided sway 
With yon bright regent of the day; 
The Piume and Poet both we know 
Their lustre to his influence owe; 
And she the works of Phoebus aiding, 
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading. 



VERSES, 



Supposed to fcc written oy Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary atode 
in the island of Juan Fernandez. 

I AM monarch of all I survey, 
My right there is none to dispute ; 

From the centre all round to the sea 
I am lord of the fowl and the bruta, 

Solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech, 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts, that roam over the plain. 

My form with indifference see ; 
They are so unacquainted with man, 

Their lameness is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
O, had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My soitows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth , 
Might learn from the wisdom of age, 

And be cheer 'd by the sallies of youth. 

Religion ! what treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! 
More precious than silver and gold 

Or all that this earth can afford. 
But the sound of the church-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell, 

Or smiled when a Sabbath appear'd. 

Ye winds, that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more. 



278 COWPEIt S POEMS. 



My friends, do they now and then send 
A wish or a thought after me 1 

tell me I yet have a friend, 
Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is the glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift- winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there : 
But alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
Even here is a season of rest, 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There's mercy in every place, 

And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 



ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE 

RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. 

Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot 
To names ignoble, born to be forgot ! 
In vain recorded in historic page, 
They court the notice of a future age : 
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land 
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand ; 
Lethsean gulfs receive them as they fall, 
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. 

So when a child, as playful children use, 
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, 
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire- 
There goes my lady, and there goes the squire, 
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark ! 
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! 



REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, 

NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANT OF THE BOOKS. 

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; 

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause 
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning 

While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 279 



In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, 

And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, 

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, 
"Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 

Then holding the spectacles up to the court — 
Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle, 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short, 
Design'd to sit close to it just like a saddle. 

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 
(Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) 

That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
Pray, who would, or who could, wear spectacles then? 

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 

Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how), 

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : 
But what were his arguments few people know, 

For the court did not think they were equally wise. 

So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone, 
Decisive and clear, without one if or but — 

That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, 
By daylight or candlelight — Eyes should be shut ! 



ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, ESQ, 

TO THE LOED HIGH CHA.NCELLOESHIP OF ENGLAND. 

Round Thurlow's head in early youth, 

And in his sportive days, 
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth, 

And Genius shed his rays. 

See ! with united wonder cried 

The experienced and the sage, 
Ambition in a boy supplied 

With all the skill of age! 

Discernment, eloquence, and grace, 

Proclaim him born to sway 
The balance in the highest place, 

And bear the palm away. 

The praise bestow'd was just and wise ; 

He sprang impetuous forth, 
Secure of conquest, where the prise 

Attends superior worth. 

So the best courser on the plain 

Ere yet he starts is known, 
And does but at the goal obtain 

What all had deem'd his own. 



280 COWPER S POEMS. 



ODE TO PEACE. 
Come,, peace of mind, delightful guest !* 
Return, and make thy downy nest 

Once more in this sad heart : 
Nor riches I nor power pursue, 
Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; 

We therefore need not part. 
Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, 
From avarice and ambition free, 

And pleasure's fatal wiles'? 
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare 
The sweets that I was wont to share, 

The banquet of. thy smiles 1 
The great, the gay, shall they partake 
The heaven that thou alone canst make? 

And wilt thou quit the stream 
That murmurs through the dewy mead, 
The grove and the sequester'd shed, 

To be a guest with tbrsnl 
For thee I panted, thee I prized, 
For thee I gladly sacrificed 

Whate'er I loved before ; 
And shall I see thee start away, 
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee s&y — 

Farewell ! we meet no more ? 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 
Weak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day^ 
Woven with pains into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 
The bow well bent, and smart the spring, 

Vice seems already slain ; 
But passion rudely snaps the string, 

And it revives again. 
Some foe to his upright intent 

Finds out his weaker part ; 
Virtue engages his assent, 

But Pleasure wins his heart, 
'Tis here the folly of the wise 

Through all his art we view; 
And, while his tongue the charge denies, 

His conscience owns it true. 
Bound on a voyage of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 
But oars alone can ne'er prevail 

To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, 

Or all the toil is lost. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 281 



THE MODERN PATRIOT. 

Rebellion is my theme all day ; 

I only wish 'twould come 
(As who knows hut perhaps it may ]) 

A little nearer home. 

Yon roaring hoys, who rave and fight 
On t'other side the Atlantic, 

I always held them in the right, 
But most so when most frantic. 

When lawless mohs insult the ccurt, 

That man shall he my toast, 
If "breaking windows be the sport, 

Who bravely breaks the most. 

But ! for him my fancy culls 
The choicest flowers she bears, 

Who constitutionally pulls 
Your house about your ears. 

Such civil broils are my delight, 

Though some folks can't endure them ; 

Who say the mob are mad outright, 
And that a rope must cure them. 

A rope ! I wish we patriots had 
Such strings for all who need 'em — 

What ! hang a man for going mad ! 
Then farewell British freedom. 



OK 1 

BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY, 

TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB, EH THE MONTH OF JUXB 178G 

So then — the Vandals of our isle, 

Sworn foes to sense and law, 
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile 

Than ever Roman saw I 
And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, 

And many a treasure more, 
The well-judged purchase and the gift 

That graced his letter'd store. 
Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn, 

The loss was his alone ; 
But ages yet to come shall mourn 

The burning of his own. 



ON THE SAME. 



When wit and genius meet their doom 

In all-devouring flame, 
They tell us of the fate of Rome, 

And bid us fear the same. 



i82 cowper's poems. 

O'er Murray's loss the muses wept, 
They felt the rude alarm, 

Yet bkss'd the guardian care that kept 
His sacred head from harm. 

There Memory, like the bee that's fed 
From Flora's balmy store, 

The quintessence of all he read 
Had treasured up before. 

The lawless herd, with fury blind, 
Have done him cruel wrong ; 

The flowers are gone — but still we find 
The honey on his tongue. 



THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED : 

OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED. 

Thus says the prophet of the Turk, 
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork ; 
There is a part in every swine 
No friend or follower of mine 
May taste, whate'er his inclination, 
On pain of excommunication. 
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, 
And thus he left the point at large. 
Had he the sinful part express'd, 
They might with safety eat the rest ; 
But for one piece they thought it hard 
From the whole hog to be debarr'd ; 
And set their wit at work to find 
What joint the prophet had in mind. 
Much controversy straight arose, 
These choose the back, the belly those ; 
By some 'tis confidently said 
He meant not to forbid the head ; 
While others at that doctrine rail, 
And piously prefer the tail. 
Thus, conscience freed from every clog. 
Mahometans eat up the hog. 

You laugh — 'tis well — the tale applied 
May make you laugh on t'other side. 
Renounce the world — the preacher cries. 
We do — a multitude replies. 
While one as innocent regards 
A snug and friendly game at cards; 
And one, whatever you may say, 
Can see no evil in a play ; 
Some love a concert, or a race ; 
And others shooting, and the chase. 
Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd, 
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 283 

Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, 
Yet likes a slice as well as he : 
"With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, 
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCK. 
MORTON'S BULLFINCH. 

Ye nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red 
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed, 

share Maria's grief 1 
Her favourite, even in his cage, 
(What will not hunger's cruel rage T) 

Assassin 'd by a thief. 

Where Rhenus strays his vines among, 
The egg was laid from which he sprung 

And, though by nature mute, 
Or only with a whistle blest, 
Well taught he all the sounds express'd 

Of flageolet or flute. 

The honours of his ebon poll 

Were brighter than the sleekest mole, 

His bosom of the hue 
With which Aurora decks the skies, 
When piping winds shall soon arise, 

To sweep away the dew. 

Above, below, in all the house, 
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse, 

No cat had leave to dwell ; 
. And Bully's cage supported stood 
On props of smoothest shaven wood, 

Large-built and latticed well. 

Well latticed — but the grate, alas I 
Not rough with wire of steel or brass, 

For Bully's plumage sake, 
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, 
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried, 

The swains their baskets make. 

Night veil'd the pole : all seem'd secure : 
When, led by instinct sharp and sure, 

Subsistence to provide, 
A beast forth sallied on the 'scout, 
Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisk er'd sncut, 

And badger-col our 'd hide. 

He, entering at the study door, 
Its ample area 'gan explore ; 

And something in the wind 
Conjectured, sniffing round and round, 
Better than all the books he found, 

Food chiefly for the mind. 



284 COWPER S POEMS. 

Just then, by adverse fate impressed, 
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest ; 

In sleep lie seem'd to view 
A rat fast clinging to the cage, 
And, screaming at the sad presage, 

Awoke and found it true. 

For, aided both by ear and scent, 

Right to his mark the monster went — 
Ah, muse ! forbear to speak 

Minute the horrors that ensued ; 

His teeth were strong, the cage was wood- 
He left poor Bully's beak. 

had he made that too his prey; 
That beak, whence issued many a lay 

Of such mellifluous tone, 
Might have repaid him well, I wot, 
For silencing so sweet a throat, 

Fast stuck within his own. 

Maria weeps— the Muses mourn — 
So when, by Bacchanalians torn, 

On Thracian Hebrus' side 
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell 5 
His head alone remain'd to tell 

The cruel death he died. 



THE ROSE. 



The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shows?. 

Which Mary Lo Anna convey'd, 
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, 

And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were al] wet, 

And it seem'd, to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it had left, with regret, 

On the flourishing bush where it grew. 

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas 1 
I snapp d it, it fell to the ground. 

And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part 

Some act by the delicate mind, 
.Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resign'd. 

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, 

Might have bloom'd with its owner a while 
And the tear, that i^ wiped with a little address, 
May be follow'd pei haps by a smile. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 

THE DOVES. 
Reasoning at every step lie treads, 

Man yet mistakes his way ; 
While meaner things, whom instinct leaas, 

Are rarely known to stray. 

One silent eve I wander'd late, 

And heard the voice of love ; 
The turtle thus address'd her mate, 

And soothed the listening dove : 

Our mutual bond of faith and truth 

No time shall disengage, 
Those blessings of our early youth 

Shall cheer our latest age : 

While innocence without disguise^ 

And constancy sincere, 
Shall fill the circles of those eyes, 

And mine can read them there j 

Those ills, that wait on all below, 

Shall ne'er be felt by me, 
Or gently felt, and only so, 

As being shared with thee. 

When lightnings flash among the treC3, 

Or kites are hovering near, 
I fear lest thee alone they seise, 

And know no other fear. 

'Tis then I feel myself a wife, 

And press thy wedded side, 
Resolved a union form'd for life 

Death never shall divide. 

But oh ! if, fickle and unchaste 

(Forgive a transient thought), 
Thou couldst become unkind at I 

And scorn thy present lot ; 

No need of lightnings from on high, 

Or kites with cruel beak ; 
Denied the endearments of thine eye, 

This widow'd heart would break. 

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, 

Soft as the passing wind ; 
And I recorded what I heard, 

A lesson for mankind. 



A FABLE. 



A haven, while with glossy breast 
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd, 
And, on her wicker-work high mounted, 
Her chickens prematurely counted 



286 C0WPER S POEMS. 



(A fault philosophers might blame, 

If quite exempted from the same), 

Enjoy 'd at ease the genial day ; 

'Twas April, as the bumpkins saj, 

The legislature call'd it May. 

But suddenly a wind, as high. 

As ever swept a winter sky, 

Shook the young leaves about her ears, 

And fill'd her with a thousand fears, 

Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, 

And spread her golden hopes below. 

But just at eve the blowing weather 

And all her fears were hush'd together : 

And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 

'Tis over, and the brood is safe ; 

(For ravens, though, as birds of omen, 

They teach both conjurors and old women 

To tell us what is to befall, 

Can't prophesy themselves at all.) 

The morning came, when neighbour ] 

Who long had mark'd her airy lodge, 

And destined all the treasure there 

A gift to his expecting fair, 

Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray, 

And bore the worthless prize away. 

MORAL. 

'Tis Providence alone secures 
In every change both mine and yours .* 
Safety consists not in escape 
From dangers of a frightful shape ; 
An earthquake may be bid to spare 
The man that's strangled by a hair. 
Fate steals along with silent tread, 
Found oft'nest in what least we dread, 
Frowns in the storm with angry brow, 
But in the sunshine strikes the blow. 



ODE TO APOLLO. 

ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DEIED IN THE SUS. 

Patron of all those luckless brains, 
That, to the wrong side leaning, 

Indite much metre with much pains, 
And little or no meaning ; 

Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, 

That water all the nations, 
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, 

In constant exhalations; 

Why, stooping from the noon of day s 

Too covetous of drink, 
Apollo, hast thou stolen away 

A poet's drop of ink 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 267 

Upborne into the viewless air, 

It floats a vapour now, 
Impell'd through, regions dense and rare, 

By all the winds that blow. 

Ordain'd perhaps, ere summer flies, 

Combined with millions more, 
To form an iris in the skies,, 

Though black and foul before. 

Illustrious drop ! and happy then 

Beyond the happiest lot, 
Of all that ever pass'd my pen, 

So soon to be forgot ! 

Phoebus, if such be thy design, 

To place it in thy bow, 
Give wit, that what is left may shine 

With equal grace below. 



A COMPARISON. 

The lapse of time and rivers is the same, 

Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; 

The silent pace, with which they steal away, 

No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay ; 

Alike irrevocable both when past, 

And a wide ocean swallows both at last. 

Though each resemble each in every part, 

A difference strikes at length the musing heart ; 

Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound, 

How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd ! 

But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, 

Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind. 



ANOTHER COMPARISON. 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along, 

Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 

With gentle yet prevailing force, 

Intent upon her destined course ; 

Graceful and useful all she does, 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes. 

Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, 

And heaven reflected in her face. 



THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 
X© MRS (afterwards lady) throckmobion. 
Maria ! I have every good 

For thee wish'd many a time, 
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood, 

But never yet in rhyme. 



288 C0WPER S POEMS. 



To wish thee fairer is no need, 
More prudent, or more sprightly, 

Or more ingenious, or more freed 
From temper flaws unsightly. 

What favour then not yet possess'd 

Can I for thee require, 
In wedded love already blest, 

To thy whole heart's desire ? 

None here is happy but in part; 

Full bliss is bliss divine ; 
There dwells some wish in every heart 

And doubtless one in thine. 

That wish on some fair future day, 
Which fate shall brightly gild 

('Tis blameless, be it what it may), 
I wish it all fulfill'd. 



PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 

A FABLE. 

I shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau * 

If birds confabulate or no ; 

'Tis clear, that they were always able 

To hold discourse, at least in fable; 

And e'en the child who knows no better 

Than to interpret, by the letter, 

A story of a cock and bull, 

Must have a most uncommon skull. 

It chanced thenon a winter's day, 
But warm, and bright, and calm as May. 
The birds, conceiving a design 
To forestall sweet St Valentine, 
In many an orchard, copse, and grove, 
Assembled on affairs of love, 
And with much twitter and much chatter 
Began to agitate the matter. 
At length a Bullfinch, who could boast 
More years and wisdom than the most, 
Entreated, opening wide his beak, 
A moment's liberty to speak ; 
And, silence publicly enjoin'd, 
Peliver'd briefly thus his mind : 

My friends ! be cautious how ye treat 
The subject upon which we meet; 
T fear we shall have winter yet. 

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, 
With golden wing and satin poll, 
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
What marriage means, thus pert replied : 

* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables whicl 
ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only 
vehicles of deceptien. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, againal 
the evidence of his senses ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 289 



Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, 
Opposite in the apple-tree, 
By his good will would keep us single 
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, 
Or (which is likelier to befall) 
Till death exterminate us all. 
I marry without more ado, 
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ? 

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, 
Turning short round, strutting and sideling, 
Attested, glad, his approbation 
Of an immediate conjugation. 
Their sentiments so well express'd 
Influenced mightily the rest; 
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 

But, though the birds were thus in haste, 
The leaves came on not quite so fast, 
And destiny, that sometimes bears 
An aspect stem on man's affairs, 
Not altogether smiled on theirs. 
The wind, of late breathed gently forth, 
Now shifted east, and east by north ; 
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 
Could shelter them from rain or snow, 
Stepping into their nests, they paddled, 
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; 
Soon every father bird and mother 
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, 
Parted without the least regret, 
Except that they had ever met, 
And leam'd in future to be wiser, 
Tuan to neglect a good adviser. 

MORAL. 

Misses ! the tale that I relate 

This lesson seems to carry- 
Choose not alone a proper mate. 

But proper time to marry. 



THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY. 

NO FABLE. 

The noon was shady, and soft airs 

Swept Ouse's silent tide, 
When, 'scaped from literary cares, 

I wander'd on his side. 

My spaniel, prettiest of his race, 

And high in pedigree 
(Two nymphs* adorn'd with every graoo 

That spaniel found for me), 

•Sir Hofcert Gunning's daughter 



290 cowper's poems. 



Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, 

Now starting into sight, 
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 

With scarce a slower flight. 

It was the time when Ouse diaplayVi 

His lilies newly blown ; 
Their beauties I intent survey'd, 

And one I wish'd my own. 

With cane extended far I sought 

To steer it close to land ; 
But still the prize, though nearly caught, 

Escaped my eager hand. 

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 

With fix'd considerate face, 
And puzzling set his puppy brains 

To comprehend the case. 

But with a cherup clear and strong 

Dispersing all his dream, 
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long 

The windings of the stream. 

My ramble ended, I return'd ; 

Beau, trotting far before. 
The floating wreath again discern'd, 

And plunging, left the shore. 

I saw him with that lily cropp'd 

Impatient swim to meet 
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 

The treasure at my feet. 

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried. 

Shall hear of this thy deed : 
My dog shall mortify the pride 

Of man's superior breed : 

But chief myself I will enjoin, 

Awake at duty's call, 
To show a love as prompt as thine 

To Him who gives me all. 



THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 

What Nature, alas ! has denied 

To the delicate growth of our isle, 
Art has in a measure supplied, 

And winter is deck'd with a smile. 
See, Mary, what beauties I bring 

From the shelter of that sunny shed, 
Where the flowers have the charms of the spring, 

Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 291 

'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets, 

Where Flora is still in her prime, 
A fortress to which she retreats 

From the cruel assaults of the clime, 
"While earth wears a mantle of snow, 

These pinks are as fresh and as gay 
As the fairest and sweetest that blow 

On the beautiful bosom of May. 

See how they have safely survived 

The frowns of a sky so severe ; 
Such Mary's true love, that has lived 

Through many a turbulent year. 
The charms of the late-blowing rose 

Seem graced with a livelier hue ; 
And the winter of sorrow best shows 

The truth of a friend such as you. 



THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. 

An Oyster, cast upon the shore, 
Was heard, though never heard before, 
Complaining in a speech well worded, 
And worthy thus to be recorded : — 

Ah, hapless wretch ! condemn'd to dwell 
For ever in my native shell ; 
Ordain'd to move when others please, 
Not for my own content or ease; 
But toss'd and buffeted about, 
Now in the water and now out. 
'Twere better to be born a stone, 
Of ruder shape, and feeling none, 
Than with a tenderness like mine, 
And sensibilities so fine ! 
I envy that unfeeling shrub, 
Fast rooted against every rub. 

The plant he meant grew not far off, 
And felt the sneer with scorn enough : 
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, 
And with asperity replied 

(When, cry the botanists, and stare, 
Did plants call'd sensitive grow there ] 
ft o matter when — a poet's muse is 
To make them grow just where she chooses) •- 

You shapeless nothing in a dish, 
You that are but almost a fish, 
I scorn your coarse insinuation, 
And have most plentiful occasioa 
To wish myself the rock I view, 
Or such another dolt as you : 
F'or many a grave and learned clerk 
And many a gay unletter'd spark, 
With curious touch examines me, 
If I can feel as well as he; 



292 COWPER S POEMS. 



And when I bend, retire, and shrink, 

Says — well, 'tis more than one would think ! 

Thus life is spent (oh fie upon't !) 

In being touch 'd, and crying — Don't ! 

A Poet, in his evening walk, 
O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. 
And your fine sense, he said, and yours, 
Whatever evil it endures, 
Deserves not, if so soon offended, 
Much to be pitied or commended. 
Disputes, though short, are far too long, 
Where both alike are in the wrong ; 
Your feelings in their full amount 
Are all upon your own account. 

You, in your grotto-work enclosed, 
Complain of being thus exposed ; 
Yet nothing feel in that rough coat, 
Save when the knife is at your throat, 
Wherever driven by wind or tide, 
Exempt from every ill beside. 

And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, 
Who reckon every touch a blemish, 
If all the plants, that can be found 
Embellishing the scene around, 
Should droop and wither where they grow. 
You would not feel at all — not you. 
The noblest minds their virtue prove 
By pity, sympathy, and love : 
These, these are feelings truly fine, 
And prove their owner half divine. 

His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, 
And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. 



THE SHRUBBERY. 

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. 

Oh, happy shades — to me unblest ! 

Friendly to peace, but not to me ! 
How ill the scene that offers rest, 

And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
Those alders, quivering to the breeze, 

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
And please, if any thing could please. 

But fix'd unalterable Care 

Foregoes not what she feels within, 

Shows the same sadness everywhere, 
And slights the season and the scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn, 

While peace possess'd these silent bowers, 

Her animating smile withdrawn, 
Has lost its beauties and its powers. 



lIISCELIiAflEOUS POEMS. 293 



The saint or moralist should tread 
This moss-grown alley musing, slow ; 

They seek like me the secret shade, 
But not like me to nourish woe ! 

Me fruitful scenes and prospects wast© 
Alike admonish not to roam ; 

These tell me of enjoyments past, 
And those of sorrows yet to come. 



MUTUAL FORBEARANCE 

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MAKKIED STATS. 

The lady thus address'd her spouse — 
What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
By no means large enough ; and was it, 
Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, 
Those hangings with their worn-out graces, 
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, 
Are such an antiquated scene, 
They overwhelm me with the spleen. 
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, 
Makes answer quite beside the mark : 
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come, 
Engaged myself to be at home, 
And shall expect him at the door 
Precisely when the clock strikes four. 

You are so deaf, the lady cried 
(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside,:, 
You are so sadly deaf, my dear, 
What shall I do to make you hear ] 

Dismiss poor Harry ! he replies ; 
Some people are more nice than wise : 
For one slight trespass all this stir ] 
What if he did ride whip and spur, 
'Twas but a mile — your favourite horse 
Will never look one hair the worse. 

Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing- 
Child ! I am rather hard of hearing — 
Yes, truly — one must scream and bavl : 
I tell you, you can't hear at all ! 
Then, with a voice exceeding low, 
No matter if you hear or no. 

Alas ! and is domestic strife, 
That sorest ill of human life, 
A plague so little to be fear'd, 
As to be wantonly incurr'd, 
To gratify a fretful passion, 
On every trivial provocation? 
The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear ; 
And something every day they live 
To pity, and perhaps forgive. 



2S4 C0WPER S POEMS. 



But if infirmities, that fall 
In common to the lot of all, 
A blemish or a sense impair'd, 
Are crimes so little to be spared, 
Then farewell all that must creatfc 
The comfort of the wedded state; 
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar, 
And tumult, and intestine war. 

The love that cheers life's latest stago* 
Proof against sickness and old age, 
Preserved by virtue from declension, 
Becomes not weary of attention ; 
But lives, when that exterior grace, 
Which first inspired the flame, decays. 
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
To faults compassionate or blind, 
And will with sympathy endure 
Those evils it would gladly cure : 
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression, 
Shows love to be a mere profession ; 
Proves that the heart is none of his, 
Or soon expels him if it is. 



THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 

Forced from home and all its pleasures, 

Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
To increase a stranger's treasures, 

O'er the raging billows borne. 
Men from England bought and sold mo, 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But, though slave they have enroll'd me, 

Minds are never to be sold. 
Still in thought as free as ever, 

What are England's rights, I ask, 
Me from my delights to sever, 

Me to torture, me to task 1 
Fleecy locks and black complexion 

Cannot forfeit nature's claim ; 
Skins may differ, but affection 

Dwells in white and black the same. 
Why did all- creating Nature 

Make the plant for which 1 we toil 1 
Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. 
Think, ye masters iron-hearted, 

Lolling at your jovial boards, 
Think how many backs have smarted 

For the sweets your cane affords. 
Is there, as ye sometimes tells us, 

Is there One who reigns on high 1 
Has he bid you buy and sell us, 

Speaking from his throne, the sky % 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Ask him, if your knotted scourges, 

Matches, blood-extorting screws, 
Are the means that duty urges 

Agents of his will to use ] 
Hark ! he answers — wild tornadoes, 

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks ; 
"Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 

Are the voice with which he speaks. 
He, foreseeing what vexations 

Afric's sons should undergo, 
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations 

Where his whirlwinds answer — no. 
By our blood in Afric wasted, 

Ere our necks received the chain ; 
By the miseries that we tasted, 

Crossing in your barks the main ; 
By our sufferings, since ye brought us 

To the man-degrading mart, 
All sustain'd by patience, taught us 

Only by a broken heart ; 
Deem our nation brutes no longer, 

Till some reason ye shall find 
Worthier of regard, and stronger 

Than the colour of our kind. 
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings 

Tarnish all your boasted powers, 
Prove that you have human feelings, 

Ere you proudly question ours ! 



PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 



Video meliora proboque, 
Deteriora sequor. 



I owh I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, 
And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves; 
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans, 
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. 

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, 
For how could we do without sugar and rum? 
Especially sugar, so needful we see ? 
What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea ! 

Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes 
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains ; 
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will, 
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still. 

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade, 
Much more in behalf of your wish might be said ; 
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, 
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks? 



£96 COWPER's POEMS. 

Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind 

A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd, 

On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ; 

But I can assure you I saw it in print. 

A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, 

Had once his integrity put to the test ; 

His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, 

And ask'd him to go and assist in the job. 

He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd, " Oh no ! 

What ! rob our good neighbour ! I pray you, don't go ; 

Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread, 

Then think of his children, for they must be fed." 

" You speak very fine, and you look very grave, 

But apples we want, and apples we'll have ; 

If you will go with us, you shall have a share, 

If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 

They spoke, and Tom ponder'd — " I see they will go; 

Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! 

Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could, 

But staying behind will do him no good. 

" If the matter depended alone upon me, 

His apples might hang till they dropp'd from the tree ; 

But, since they will take them, I think I'll go too, 

He will lose none by me, though I get a few." 

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, 

And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 

He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan : 

He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 



THE MORNING DREAM. 
'Twas in the glad season of spring, 

Asleep at the dawn of the day, 
I dream'd what I cannot but sing, 

So pleasant it seemed as I lay. 
I dream'd that, on ocean afloat, 

Far hence to the westward I sail'd, 
While the billows high lifted the boat, 

And the fresh -blowing breeze never fail'd. 
In the steerage a woman I saw, 

Such at least was the form that she wore, 
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, 

Ne'er taught me by woman before. 
She sat, and a shield at her side 

Shed light, like a sun on the waves, 
And smiling divinely, she cried— 

" I go to make freemen of slaves." 
Then, raising her voice to a strain 

The sweetest that ear ever heard , 
She sung of the slave's broken chain. 

Wherever her glory appear'd. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 29T 

Some clouds, which had over us hung, 

Fled, chased by her melody clear, 
And methought while she liberty sung, 

'Twas liberty only to hear. 

Thus swiftly dividing the flood, 

To a slave-cultured island we came, 
Where a demon, her enemy, stood — 

Oppression his terrible name. 
In his hand, as the sign of his sway, 

A scourge hung with lashes he bore, 
And stood looking out for his prey 

From Africa's sorrowful shore. 

But soon as, approaching the land, 

That goddess-like woman he view'd, 
The scourge he let fall from his hand, 

With blood of his subjects imbrued. 
I saw him both sicken and die, 

And, the moment the monster expired, 
Heard shouts, that ascended the sky, 

From thousands with rapture inspired. 

Awaking, how could I but muse 

At what such a dream should betide 1 
But soon my ear caught the glad news, 

Which served my weak thought for a guido ; 
That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves 

For the hatred she ever has shown 
To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, 

Resolves to have none of her own. 



THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN; 

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAMESAF3 
HOIEB AGAIN. 

John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown, 
A trainband captain eke was he 

Of famous London town. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear . 

Though wedded we have been 
These twice ten tedious years, yet we 

No holiday have seen. 

To-morrow is our wedding-day, 

And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton 

AU in a chaise and pair. 

My sister, and my sister's child, 

Myself, and children three, 
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 

On horseback after we. 



COWl'ER S POEMS. 



He soon replied, I do admire 

Of -womankind but one, 
And you are she, my dearest dear, 

Therefore it shall be done. 

I am a linendraper bold, 

As all the world doth know, 
And my good friend the calendrer 

Will lend his horse to go. 

Quoth Mrs Gilpin, That's well said ; 

And for that wine is dear, 
We will be furnish 'd with our own, 

Which is both bright and clear, 

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; 

O'erjoy'd was he to find, 
That, though on pleasure she was bent, 

She had a frugal mind. 

The morning came, the chaise was brought^ 

But yet was not allow'd 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud. 

So three doors off, the chaise was stay'd, 

Where they did all get in ; 
Six precious souls, and ail agog 

To dash through thick and thin. 

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, 

Were never folk so glad, 
The stones did rattle underneath, 

As if Cheapside were mad. 

John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane, 
And up he got, in haste to ride, 

But soon came down again ; 

For saddletree scarce reach'd had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When, turning round his head, he saw 

Three customers come in. 

80 down he came ; for loss of time, 

Although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 

Would trouble him much more. 

'Twas long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind, 
When Betty screaming came down stain, 

' ' The wine is left behind ! " 

Good lack ! quoth he — yet bring it me, 

My leathern belt likewise, 
In which 1 bear my trusty sword 

When I do exercise* 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 

Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she loved, 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear, 

Through which the belt he drew, 
And hung a bottle on each side, 

To make his balance true. 

Then over all, that he might be 

Equipp'd from top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, 

He manfully did throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed, 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 

With caution and good heed. 

But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well shod feet, 
The snorting beast began to trot, 

Which gall'd him in his seat. 

So, fair and softly, John he cried, 

But John he cried in vain; 
That trot became a gallop soon, 

In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping down, as needs be must 

Who cannot sit upright, 
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before, 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 

Away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out, 

Of running snch a rig. 

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 

Like streamer long and gay, 
Till, loop and button failing both, 

At last it flew away. 

Then might all people well discern 

The bottles he had slung ; 
A bottle swinging at each side, 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, 

Up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, Well done ? 

As loud as he could bawl. 



SOO COW PER S POEMS. 



Away went Gilpin — who but he 1 

His fame soon spread around, 
He carries weight I he rides a race ! 

Tis for a thousand pound ! 

And still, as fast as he drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view, 
How in a trice the turnpike men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now, as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shattered at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road, 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke, 

As they had basted been. 

But still he seem'd to carry weight, 

With leathern girdle braced ; 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols he did play, 
Until he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay ; 

And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way, 
Just like unto a trundling mop, 

Or a wild goose at play. 

At Edmonton, his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 

Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house I 

They all at once did cry ; 
The dinner waits, and we are tired : 

Said Gilpin — So am I ! 

But yet his horse was not a whit 

Inclined to tarry there ; 
For why 1 — his owner had a house 

Full ten miles off, at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew, 

Shot by an archer strong ] 
So did he fly — which brings me to 

The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin out of breath, 

And sore against his will, 
Till at his friend the calendrer's 

His horse at last stood still. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. oOi 



The calend'rer, amazed to see 

His neighbour in such trim, 
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, 

And thus accosted him : 

What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; 

Tell me you must and shall — 
Say why bareheaded you are come, 

Or why you come at all ? 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 

And loved a timely joke ! 
And thus unto the calend'rer 

In merry guise he spoke : 

I came because your horse would come, 

And, if I well forbode, 
My hat and wig will soon be here, 

They are upon the road. 

The calend'rer, right glad to find 

His friend in merry pin, 
Keturn'd him not a single word, 

But to the house went in ; 

"Whence straight he came with hat and *rig r 

A wig that flow'd behind, 
A hat not much the worse for wear, 

Each comely in its kind. 

He held them up, and in his turn 

Thus show'd his ready wit : 
My head is twice as big as yours, 

They therefore needs must fit. 

But let me scrape the dirt away 

That hangs upon your face >* 
And stop and eat, for well you may 

Be in a hungry case. 

Said John, It is my wedding-day, 

And all the world would stare, 
If wife should dine at Edmonton, 

And I should dine at Ware. 

So turning to his horse, he said, ■ 

I am in haste to dine ; 
'Twas for your pleasure you came here, 

You shall go back for mine. 

Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast S 

For which he paid full dear ; 
For, while he spake, a braying ass 

Did sing most loud and clear ; 

Whereat his horse did snort, as he 

Had heard a lion roar, 
And galiop'd off with all his might 

As he had done before. 



802 COWPER S POEMS. 



Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
He lost them sooner than at first, 

For why? — they were too big. 

Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Her husband posting down 
Into the country far away, 

She pull'd out half-a-crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said, 
That drove them to the Bell, 

This shall be yours, when you bring back 
My husband safe and well. 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

John coming back amain ; 
Whom in a trice he tried to stop, 

By catching at his rein ; 

But, not performing what he meant, 
And gladly would have done, 

The frighted steed he frighted more, 
And made him faster run. 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

Went postboy at his heels, 
The postboy's horse right glad to inies 

The lumbering of the wheels. 

Six gentlemen upon the road 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With postboy scampering in the rear, 

They raised the hue and cry : — 

Stop thief ! stop thief ! — a highwayman i 

Not one of them was mute ; 
And all and each that pass'd that way 

Did join in the pursuit. 

And now the turnpike gates again 

Flew open in short space ; 
The toll-men thinking a3 before, 

That Gilpin rode a race. ' 

And so he did, and won it too, 

For he got first to town ; 
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 

He did again get down. 

Now let us sing, long live the king, 

And Gilpin, long live he; 
And when he next doth ride abroad, 

May I be there to see! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 303 



THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM. 
A nightingale, that all day long 
Had cheer'd the village with his song, 
Nor yet at eve his note suspended, 
Nor yet when eventide was ended, 
Began to feel, as well he might, 
The keen demands of appetite ; 
When, looking eagerly around, 
He spied far off, upon the ground, 
A something shining in the dark, 
And knew the glowworm by his spark ; 
So stooping down from hawthorn top, 
He thought to put him in his crop. 
The worm, aware of his intent, 
Harangued him thus, right eloquent — 

Did you admire my lamp, quoth he, 
As much as I your minstrelsy, 
You would abhor to do me wrong 
As much as I to spoil your song ; 
For 'twas the self-same Power divine 
Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
That you with music, I with light, 
Might beautify and cheer the night. 
The songster heard his short oration, 
And, warbling out his approbation, 
Released him, as my story tells, 
And found a supper somewhere else. 

Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
Their real interest to discern ; 
That brother should not war with brother, 
And worry and devour each other ; 
But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
Till life's poor transient night is spent, 
Respecting in each other's case 
The gifts of nature and of grace. 

Those Christians best deserve the name 
Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
Peace both the duty and the prize 
Of him that creeps and him that flies. 



AN EPISTLE TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LAD? 
IN FRANCE. 
Madam, — A stranger's purpose in these lays 
Is to_ congratulate, and not to praise. 
To give the creature the Creator's due 
Were sin in me, and an offence to you. 
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid, 
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, 
A coin by craft for folly's use design 'd, 
Spurious, and only current with the blind. 
The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, 



B04 OOWPER's VOEMS. 

Who found not thorns and briers in his road. 

The world may dance along the flowery plain, 

Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain, 

Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, 

With unshod feet they yet securely tread, 

Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, 

Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 

But He, who knew what human hearts would prove, 

How slow to learn the dictates of his love, 

That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, 

A life of ease would make them harder still, 

In pity to the souls his grace design'd 

To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 

Call'd for a cloud to -darken all their years, 

And said, " Gro, spend them in the vale of tears." 

O balmy gales of soul-reviving air ! 

salutary streams, that murmur there ! 

These flowing from the fount of grace above, 

Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. 

The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; 

Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys ; 

An envious world will interpose its frown, 

To mar delights superior to its own ; 

And many a pang experienced still within, 

Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin : 

But ills of every shape and every name, 

Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim : 

And every moment's calm, that soothes the breast, 

Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
But the chief Shepherd even there is near; 
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine — 
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
And drought on all the drooping herbs around. 



TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UN WW. 

Unwtn, I should but ill repay 

The kindness of a friend, 
Whose worth deserves as warm a Say 

As ever friendship penn'd, 
Thy name omitted in a page 
That would reclaim a vicious age. 
A union form'd, as mine with thee, 

Not rashly, or in sport, 
May be as fervent in degree 

And faithful in its sort, 
And may as rich in comfort prove, 
As that of true fraternal love. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. $0£ 



The bud inserted in the rind, 

The bud of peach or rose, 
Adorns, though differing in its kind, 

The stock whereon it grows, 
"With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair. 
As if produced by nature there. 

Not rich, I render what I may, 
I seize thy name in haste, 

And place it in this first essay, 
Lest this should prove the last. 

'Tis where it should be — in a plan 

That holds in view the good of man. 

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, 

Should be the poet's heart ; 
Affection lights a brighter flame 
^ Than ever blazed by art. 
K o muses on these lines attend, 
I sink the poet in the friend. 



TO THE REVEREND MR NEWTON. 

AN INVITATION INTO THE COCNTBY. 

The swallows in their torpid state 
Compose their useless wing, 

And bees in hives as idly wait 
The call of early Spring. 

The keenest frost that binds the streaar 
The wildest wind that blows, 

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, 
Secure of their repose. 

But man, all feeling and awake, 

The gloomy scene surveys ; 
With present ills his heart must ache. 

And pant for brighter days. 

Old Winter, halting o'er the mead, 

Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, 

And whispers your return. 

Then April, with her sister May, 
Shall chase him from the bowers, 

And weave fresh garlands every day, 
To crown the smiling hours. 

And if a tear that speaks regret 

Of happier times, appear, 
A glimpse of joy, that we have met ? 

Shall shine, and dry the tear. 



S06 cowper's poems. 



CATHARINA. 

ADDRESSED TO MISS 8TAPLETON (AFTERWARDS MRS COURTNEY). 

She came — she is gone — we have met — 

And meet perhaps never again ; 
The sun of that moment is set, 

And seems to have risen in vain, 
Catharina has fled like a dream 

(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) — 
But has left a regret and esteem 

That will not so suddenly pass. 

The last evening ramble we made, 

Catharina, Maria, and I, 
Our progress was often delay'd 

By the nightingale warbling nigh. 
We paused under many a tree, 

And much she was charm'd with a tone, 
Less sweet to Maria and me, 

Who so lately had witness'd her own. 

My numbers that day she had sung, 

And gave them a grace so divine, 
As only her musical tongue 

Could infuse into numbers of mine. 
The longer I heard, I esteemed 

The work of my fancy the more, 
And e'en to myself never seem'd 

So tuneful a poet before. 

Though the pleasures of London exceed 

In number the days of the year, 
Catharina, did nothing impede, 

Would feel herself happier here ; 
For the close-woveu arches of limes 

On the banks of o*:r river, I know, 
Are sweeter to her many times 

Than aught that the city can show. 

So it is when the mind is endued 

With a well -judging taste from above, 
Then, whether embellish 'd or rude, 

'Tis nature alone that we love. 
The achievements of art may amuse, 

May even our wonder excite; 
But groves, hills, and valleys diffuse 

A lasting, a sacred delight. 

Since then in the rural recess 

Catharina alone can rejoice. 
May it still be her lot to possess 

The scene of her sensible choice ! 
To inhabit a mansion remote 

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, 
And by Philomel's annual note 

To measure the life that she leadsi 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 307 



"With her book, and her voice, and her lyre, 

To wing all her moments at home ; 
And with scenes that new rapture inspire, 

As oft as it suits her to roam ; 
She will have just the life she prefers, 

"With little to hope or to fear, 
And ours would be pleasant as hers, 

Might we view her enjoying it here. 



THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 

A TALE. 

A hermit (or if 'chance you hold 

That title now too trite and old), 

A man, once young, who lived retired 

As hermit could have well desired, 

His hours of study closed at last, 

And finished his concise repast, 

Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book 

Within its customary nook, 

And, staff in hand, set forth to share 

The sober cordial of sweet air, 

Like Isaac, with a mind applied 

To serious thought at evening-tide. 

Autumnal rains had made it chill, 

And from the trees, that fringed his hill. 

Shades slanting at the close of day, 

Chill'd more his else delightful way. 

Distant a little mile he spied 

A western bank's still sunny side, 

And right toward the favour'd place 

Proceeding with his nimblest pace, 

In hope to bask a little yet, 

Just reach'd it when the sun was set. 

Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! 
Learns something from whate'er occurs— 
And hence, he said, my mind computes 
The real worth of man's pursuits. 
His object chosen, wealth or fame, 
Or other sublunary game, 
Imagination to his view 
Presents it deck'd with every hue, 
That can seduce him not to spare 
His powers of best exertion there, 
But youth, health, vigour to expend 
On so desirable an end. 
Ere long approach life's evening shades. 
The glow that fancy gave it fades ; 
And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace 
That first engaged him in the chase. 

True, answer'd an angelic guide, 
Attendant at the senior's side— 



308 COWPETl S POEMS. 



But whether all the time it cost 
To urge the fruitless chase be lost, 
Must be decided by the worth 
Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
Trifles pursued, what e'er the event, 
Must cause him shame or discontent ; 
A vicious object still is worse, 
Successful there, he wins a curse ; 
But he, whom e'en in life's last stage 
Endeavours laudable engage, 
Is paid at least in peace of mind, 
And sense of having well design'd ; 
And if, ere he attain his end, 
His sun precipitate descend, 
A brighter prize than that he meant 
Shall recompense his mere intent. 
No virtuous wish can bear a date 
Either too early or too late. 



THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 

The greenhouse is my summer seat ; 
My shrubs displaced from that retreat 

Enjoy'd the open air; 
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song 
Had been their mutual solace long, 

Lived happy prisoners there. 

They sang as blithe as finches sing, 
That flutter loose on golden wing, 

And frolic where they list ; 
Strangers to liberty, "'tis true, 
But that delight they never knew, 

And therefore never miss'd. 

But nature works in every breast, 
With force not easily suppress'd ; 

And Dick felt some desires, 
That, alter many an effort vain, 
Instructed him at length to gain 

A pass between his wires. 

The open windows seem'd to invite 
The freeman to a farewell flight ; 

But Tom was still confined ; 
And Dick, although his way was clear, 
Was much too generous and sincere 

To leave his friend behind. 

80 settling on his cage, by play, 
And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say, 

You must not live alone — 
Nor would he quit that chosen stand 
Till I, with slow and cautious hand, 

Beturn'd him to his own, 



MISCELLAKEOUS POEMS. '30» 

ye, who never taste the joys 
Of Friendship, satisfied with noise 

Fandango, ball, and rout ! 
Blush when I tell you how a bird 
A prison with a friend preferr'd 

To liberty without. 



THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 

A TALE. 

There is a field, through which I often pass, 
Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, 
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, 
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood, 
Reserved to solace many a neighbouring squire, 
That he may follow them through brake and brier, 
Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine, 
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. 
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd, 
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field; 
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, 
But now wear crests of oven-wood instead ; 
And where the land slopes to its watery bourn 
Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn; 
Bricks line the sides, but shiver 'd long ago, 
And horrid brambles intertwine below; 
A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time, 
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. 

Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, 
With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; 
Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from every spray, 
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away ; 
But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack. 
Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack, 
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats 
With a whole gamut fill'd of heavenly notes, 
For which, alas ! my destiny severe, 
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. 

The sun, accomplishing his early march, 
His lamp now planted on heaven's topmost arch, 
When, exercise and air my only aim, 
And heedless whither, to that field I came, 
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound 
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, 
Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang 
All Kilwick and all Dinglederry * rang. 

Sheep grazed the field ; some with soft bosom press'd 
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest ; 
IN or noise was heard but of the hasty brook, 
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. 
All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, 
To me their peace by kind contagion spread. 

* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq. 



310 cowper's poems. 



But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 
'Gan make his instrument of music speak, 
And from within the wood that crash was heard, 
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, 
The sheep recumbent and the sheep that grazed, 
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, 
Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, 
Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round again ; 
But recollecting, with a sudden thought, 
That flight in circles urged advanced them nought, 
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, 
And thought again — but knew not what to think. 

The man to solitude accustom'd long, 
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue ; 
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees 
Have speech for him, and understood with ease ; 
After long drought, when rains abundant fall, 
He bears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; 
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, 
How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 
But, with precision nicer still, the mind 
He scans of every locomotive kind ; 
Birds of all feather, beasts of every name ; 
That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; 
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears 
Have all articulation in his ears ; 
He spells them true by intuition's light, 
And needs no glossary to set him right. 

This truth premised was needful as a text, 
To win due credence to what follows next. 

Awhile they mused; surveying every face, 
Thou hadst supposed them of superior it ce, 
Their periwigs of wool and fears combined, 
Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, 
That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, 
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out 
Or academic tutors, teaching youths, 
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths ; 
When thus a mutton statelier than the rest, 
A ram, the ewes and wethers sad address'd. 

Friends ! we have lived too long. I never heard 
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. 
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent 
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, 
And from their prison-house below arise, 
With all these hideous howlings to the skies, 
I could be much composed, nor should appear, 
For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. 
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolTd 
All night, me resting quiet in the fold. 
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, 
I could expound the melancholy tone ; 
Should deem it by our old companion made, 
The ass ; for he, we krow, has lately stray'd, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 3ll 



And, being lost, perhaps, and wandering wide, 
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide. 
But ah ! those dreadful yells what soul can hear, 
That owns a carcass, and not quake for fear ) 
Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd 
And fang'd with brass the demons are abroad | 
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit 
That, life to save, we leap into the pit. 

Him answer'd then his loving mate and trua, 
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. 

How ! leap into the pit our life to save? 
To save our life leap all into the grave ] 
For can we find it less 1 Contemplate first 
The depth how awful ! falling there, we burst : 
Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall 
In part abate, that happiness were small ; 
For with a race like theirs no chance I see 
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. 
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it D apple's bray, 
Or be it not, or be it whose it may, 
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues 
Of demons utter'd, from whatever lungs, 
Sounds are but sounds, and, till the cause appear, 
We have at least commodious standing here. 
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last. 

While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, 
For Reynard, close attended at his heels 
By panting dog, tired man, and spattered horse, 
Through mere good fortune, took a different course. 
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road 
Following, that led me to my own abode, 
Much wooder'd that the silly sheep had found 
Such cause of terror in an empty sound, 
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. 

MORAL. 

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, 
Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away. 



BOADICEA. 

AN ODE. 



When the British warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought, with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods, 

Sage beneath the spreading oak. 

Sat the Drrid, hoary chief; 
Every burning word he spoke 

Full of rage, and full of grief. 



812 cowfer's POjSmS. 



Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
'Tis because resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongues. 

Rome shall perish — write that word 
In the blood that she has spilt ; 

Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, 
Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

Rome, for empire far renown'd, 
Tramples on a thousand states ; 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground- 
Hark 1 the Graul is at her gates ! 

Other Romans shall arise, 
Heedless of a soldier's name; 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land, 

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 
Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Csesar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway ; 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 
Pregnant with celestial fire, 

Bending as he swept the chords 
Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch's pride, 
Felt them in her bosom glow : 

Rush'd to battle, fought, and died : 
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 

Heaven awards the vengeance du3 < 
Empire is on us bestow'd, 

Shame and ruin wait for yon. 



HEROISM,, 
There was a time when iEtna's silent fire 
Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire; 
When, conscious of no danger from below, 
She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow. 
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 
The blooming groves that girdled her around. 
Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines 
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines) 
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, 
In peace upon her sloping sides matured. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 313 



When on a day, like that of the last doom, 

A conflagration labouring in her womb, 

She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth, 

That shook the circling seas and solid earth. 

Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, 

And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies, 

While through the Stygian veil, that blots the day, 

In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. 

But oh ! what muse, and in what powers of song, 

Can trace the torrent as it burns along ] 

Havoc and de rastation in the van, 

It marches o'er the prostrate works of man ; 

Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear, 

And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pasa, 
See it an uninformed and idle mass ; 
Without a soil to invite the tiller's care, 
Or blade that might redeem it from despair. 
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve ?) 
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, 
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, 
charming Paradise of shortlived sweets ! 
The self-same gale that wafts the fragrance round 
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
Again the mountain feels the imprison'd foe, 
Again pours ruin on the vale below. 
Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
That only futare ages can restore. 

Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, 
Who write in blood the merits of your cause, 
Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, 
Grlory your aim. but justice your pretence ; 
Behold in iEtna's emblematic fires 
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ! 

Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain, 
And tells you where you have a right to reign, 
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
Studious of peace, their neighbour's and their own. 
Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they rue 
Their only crime, vicinity to you ! 
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, 
Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road ; 
At every step beneath their feet they tread 
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ! 
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
Before them, and behind a wilderness. 
Famine, and Pestilence, her firstborn son, 
Attend to finish what the sword begun ; 
And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, 
And folly pays, resound at your return. 
A calm succeeds — but Plenty, with her train 
Of heartfelt joys, succeeds not socn again : 



SI 4 



cowper's poems. 



And years of pining indigence must show 
What scourges are the gods that rule below. 

Yet pan, laborious man, by slow degrees 
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease), 
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil, 
Gfleans up the refuse of the general spoil, 
Rebuilds the towers that smoked upon the plain, 
And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 

Increasing commerce and reviving art 
Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part ; 
And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, 
That wealth wdthin is ruin at the door. 
What are ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes, say, 
But iEtnas of the suffering world ye sway ? 
Sweet Nature, stripped of her embroider'd robe, 
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; 
And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, 
To prove you there destroyers as ye are. 

place me in some heaven-protected isle, 
Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; 
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, 
No crested warrior dips his plume in blood ; 
Where Power secures what Industry has won : 
Where to succeed is not to be undone ; 
A land that distant tyrants hate in vain, 
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 

Ot'I OI NORFOLK, 

THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM. 

that those lips had language ! Life has pass'd 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
tc Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away 1' 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here : 
Who bidst me honour with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, 

But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
And, while that face renews my filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream, that thou art she. 

My mother ! when I leam'd that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ] 
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 315 



Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 

Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss : 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 

Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. 

I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, 

I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 

Anc 1 turning from my nursery window, drew 

A lcng, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 

But was it such ] — It was. — Where thou art gone, 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 

What ardently I wish'd, I long believed, 

And, disappointed still, was still deceived* 

By expectation every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and weat, 

Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 

I learn' d at last submission to my lot, 

But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way, 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capp'd, 
'Tis now become a history little known, 
That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. 
Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced 
A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 
The biscuit or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters o 1 my cheeks bestow'd 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd : 
All this, and more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall, 
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks 
That humour interposed too often makes ; 
All this still legible in memory's page, 
And still to be so to my latest age, 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honcurs to thee as my numbers may ; 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. 

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
I prick d them into paper with a pin 



COWPEIt S POEMS. 



(And thou wast happier than myself the while, 

Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile), 

Could those few pleasant days again appear, 

Might one wish "bring them, would I wish them here? 

I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 

Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 

But no — what here we call our life is such, 

So little to be loved, and thou so much, 

That I should ill requite thee to constrain 

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd), 
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle 
Where spices breathe,- and brighter seasons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore, 
" Where tempests never beat nor billows roar ;"* 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of 1 fe long since has anchor'd by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always distressed — ■ 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, 
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost, 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
But oh, the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 
And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
By contemplation's help., not sought in vain, 
I se m to have lived my childhood o'er again; 
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
T me has but half succeeded in his theft — 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left 



FRIENDSHIP. 



What virtue, or what mental grace 
But men unqualified and base 

Will boast it their possession 1 
Profusion apes the noble part 
Of liberality of heart, 

And dulness of discretion. 

* Garth. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 317 

If every polish'd gem we find, 
Illuminating heart or mind, 

Provoke to imitation ; 
No wonder friendship does the same, 
That jewel of the purest flame, 

Or rather constellation. 

No knave but boldly will pretend 
The requisites that form a friend, 

A real and a sound one ; 
Nor any fool, he would deceive, 
But prove as ready to believe, 

And dream that he had found one. 

Candid, and generous, and just, 
Boys care but little whom they trust, 

An error soon corrected — 
For who but learns in riper years 
That man, when smoothest he appears, 

Is most to be suspected ] 

But here again a danger lies, 
Lest, having misapplied our eyes, 

And taken trash for treasure, 
We should unwarily conclude 
Friendship a false ideal good, 

A mere Utopian pleasure. 

An acquisition rather rare 
Is yet no subject of despair ; 

Nor is it wise complaining, 
If, either on forbidden ground, 
Or where it was not to be found, 

We sought without attaining. 

No friendship will abide the test, 
That stands on sordid interest, 

Or mean self-love erected ; 
Nor such as may awhile subsist 
Between the sot and sensualist, 

For vicious ends connected. 

Who seek a friend should come disposed 
To exhibit, in full bloom disclos'd, 

The graces and the beauties 
That form the character he seeks, 
For 'tis a union that bespeaks 

Reciprocated duties. 

Mutual attention is implied. 
And equal truth on either side, 

And constantly supported ; 
'Tis senseless arrogance to accuse 
Another of sinister views, 

Our own as much distorted. 



818 COWPER*S POEMS. 



But will sincerity suffice ] 
It is indeed above all price, 

And must be made the basis ; 
But every virtue of the soul 
Must constitute the charming whole. 

All shining in their places. 

A fretful temper will divide 

The closest knot that may be tied, 

By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; 
A temper passionate and fierce 
May suddenly your joys disperse 

At one immense explosion. 

In vain the talkative unite 

In hopes of permanent delight — 

The secret just committed, 
Forgetting its important weight, 
They drop through mere desire to prate 

And by themselves outwitted. 

How bright soe'er the prospect seems, 
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams, 

If envy chance to creep in ; 
An envious man, if you succeed, 
May prove a dangerous foe indeed, 

But not a friend worth keeping. 

As envy pines at good possess'd, 
So jealousy looks forth distress'd 

On good that seems approaching , 
And, if success his steps attend, 
Discerns a rival in a friend, 

And hates him for encroaching. 

Hence authors of illustrious name, 
Unless belied by common fame, 

Are sadly prone to quarrel, 
To deem the wit a friend displays 
A tax upon their own just praise, 

And pluck each other's laurel. 

A man renown'd for repartee 
Will seldom scruple to make free 

With friendship's finest feeling, 
Will thrust a dagger at your breast, 
And say he wounded you in jest, 

By way of balm for healing. 

Whoever keeps an open ear 
For tattlers will be sure to hear 

The trumpet of contention; 
Aspersion is the babbler's trade,, 
To listen is to lend him aid, 

And rush into dissension. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 319 

A friendship that in frequent fits 
Of controversial rage emits 

The sparks of disputation, 
Like hand-in-hand insurance-plates, 
Most unavoidably creates 

The thought of conflagration. 

Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
True as a needle to the pole, 

Their humour yet so various — 
They manifest their whole life through 
The needle's deviations too, 

Their love is so precarious. 

The great and small but rarely meet 
On terms of amity complete ; 

Plebeians must surrender, 
And yield so much to noble folk, 
It is combining fire with smoke, 

Obscurity with splendour. 

Some are so placid and serene 
(As Irish bogs are always green), 

They sleep secure from waking ; 
And are indeed a bog, that bears 
Your unparticipated cares 

Unmoved and without quaking. 

Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
Their heterogeneous politics 

Without an effervescence, 
Like that of salts with lemon juice, 
Which does not yet like that produce 

A friendly coalescence. 

Religion should extinguish strife, 
And make a calm of human life ; 

But friends that chance to differ 
On points which God has left at large, 
How freely will they meet and charge! 

No combatants are stiffer. 

To prove at last my main intent 
Needs no expense of argument, 

No cutting and contriving — 
Seeking a real friend, we seem 
To adopt the chemist's golden dream, 

With still less hope of thriving. 

Sometimes the fault is all our own, 
Some blemish in due time made known 

By trespass or omission ; 
Sometimes occasion brings to light 
Our friend's defect, long hid from sight, 

And even from suspicion. 



320 COWPER S POEMtt. 



Then judge yourself, and prove your man 
As circumspectly as you can, 

And, having made election, 
Beware no negligence of yours, 
Such as a friend but ill endures, 

Enfeeble his affection. 

That secrets are a sacred trust, 

That friends should be sincere and just, 

That constancy befits them, 
Are observations on the case, 
That savour much of commonplace, 

And all the world admits them. 

But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, 
An architect requires alone 

To finish a fine building — 
The palace were but half complete, 
If he could possibly forget 

The carving and the gilding. 

The man that hails you Tom or Jack, 
And proves by thumps upon your back 

How he esteems your merit, 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed 

To pardon or to bear it. 

As similarity of mind, 

Or something not to be defined, 

First fixes our attention ; 
So manners decent and polite, 
The same we practised at first sight, 

Must save it from declension. 

Some act upon this prudent plan, 
" Say little, and hear all you can." 

Safe policy, but hateful — 
So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
But render neither fruit nor flower, 

Unpleasant and ungrateful. 

The man I trust, if shy to me, 
Shall find me as reserved as he, 

No subterfuge or pleading 
Shall win my confidence again ; 
I will by no means entertain 

A spy on my proceeding. 

These samples — for, alas! at last 
These are but samples, and a taste 

Of evils yet unmection'd — 
May prove the task a task indeed, 
In which 'tis much if we succeed, 

However well intention'd. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 821 

Pursue the search, and you will find 
Good sense and knowledge of mankind 

To be at least expedient, 
And, after summing all the rest, 
Religion ruling in the breast 

A principal ingredient. 

The noblest Friendship ever shown 
The Saviour's history makes known, 

Though some have turn'd and turned it ; 
And, whether being crazed or blind, 
Or seeking with a biass'd mind, 

Have not, it seems, discern'd it. 

Friendship ! if my soul forego 
Thy dear delights while here below, 

To mortify and grieve me, 
May I myself at last appear 
Unworthy, base, and insincere, 

Or may my friend deceive me ! 



ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, 

*THJCH THE OWNEE OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE 

G-o — thou art all unfit to share 

The pleasures of this place 
With such as its old tenants are, 

Creatures of gentler race. 

The squirrel here his hoard provides, 

Aware of wintry storms, 
And woodpeckers explore the sides 

Of rugged oaks for worms. 

The sheep here smooths the knotted thora 

With frictions of her fleece ; 
And here I wander eve and morn, 

Like her, a friend to peace. 

Ah ! — I could pity thee exiled 

From this secure retreat — 
I would not lose it to be styled 

The happiest of the great. 

But thou canst taste no calm delight ; 

Thy pleasure is to show 
Thy magnanimity in fight, 

Thy prowess — therefore, go — 

I care not whether east or north, 

So I no more may find th^e ; 
The angry muse thus sings thee forth, 

And claps the gate behind thee. 



522 cowper's poems. 



ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. 

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OP HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RECOVERY. 

I ransack/d for a theme of song, 

Much ancient chronicle, and long ; 

I read of bright embattled fields, 

Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, 

Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 

Prowess to dissipate a host ; 

Through tomes of fable and of dream 

I sought an eligible theme, 

But none I found, or found them shared 

Already by some happier bard. 

To modern times, with truth to guide - 
My busy^ search, I next applied ; 
Here cities won, and fleets dispersed, 
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed, 
Deeds of unperishing renown, 
Our fathers* triumphs and our own. 

Thus as the bee, from bank to bower, 
Assiduous sips at every flower, 
But rests on none till that be found 
Where most nectareous sweets abound, 
So I, from theme to theme display'd 
In many a page historic, stray'd, 
Siege after siege, fight after fight, 
Contemplating with small delight 
(For feats of sanguinary hue 
Not always glitter in my view), 
Till, settling on the current year, 
I found the far-sought treasure near, 
A theme for poetry divine, 
A theme to ennoble even mine, 
In memorable eighty-nine. 

The spring of eighty-nine shall be 
An sera cherish'd long by me, 
Which joyful I will oft record, 
And thankful at my frugal board ; 
For then the clouds of eighty-eight, 
That threaten'd England's trembling state 
With loss of what she least could spare, 
Her sovereign's tutelary care, 
One breath of heaven, that cried — Restore ! 
Chased, never to assemble more : 
And for the richest crown on earth, 
If valued by its wearer's worth, 
The symbol of a righteous reign 
Sat fast on George's brows again. 

Then peace and joy again possess'd 
Our Queen's long-agitated breast ; 
Such joy and peace as can be known 
By sufferers like herself alone, 
Who losing, or supposing lost, 
The good on earth they valued most, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 323 

For that dear sorrow's sake forego 
All hope of happiness below, 
Then suddenly regain the prise, 
And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! 

Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
Since all thy tears were changed to smiles, 
The eyes, that never saw thee, shine 
With joy not unallied to thine ; 
Transports not chargeable with art 
Illume the land's remotest part, 
And strangers to the air of courts, 
Both in their toils and at their sports, 
The happiness of answer'd prayers, 
That gilds thy features, show in theirs.. 

If they who on thy state attend, 
Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 
'Tis but the natural effect 
Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
But she is something more than queen 
Who is beloved where never seen. 



A HYMN, 

fOSt THIS USB 07 THE SUNDAY iCSOOL AT OLNKT. 

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer 
In heaven thy dwelling-place, 

From infants made the public care, 
And taught to seek thy face. 

Thanks for thy word and for thy day, 

And grant us, we implore, 
Never to waste in sinful play 

Thy holy Sabbaths more. 

Thanks that we hear — but ! impart 

To each desires sincere, 
That we may listen with our heart, 

And learn as well as hear. 

For if vain thoughts the mind engage 

Of older far than we, 
What hope, that, at our heedless age, 

Our minds should e'er be free ] 

Much hope, if thou our spirits take 

Under thy gracious sway, 
Who canst the wisest wiser make, 

And babes as wise as they. 

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, 

A sun that ne'er declines, 
And be thy mercies shower'd on those 

Who placed us where it shines. 



824 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



STANZAS. 



SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE PARISH OF ALL: 
SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON, ANNO DOMINI 1787. 

(Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.) 

Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, 
Regumque turres.— Horace. 

Pale death with equal foot strikes wide the door 
Of royal halls and hovels of the poor. 

While thirteen moons saw smoothly run 

The Nen's "barge-laden wave, 
All these, life's rambling journey done, 

Have found their home, the grave. 

Was man (frail always) made more frail 

Than in foregoing years ] 
Did famine or did plague prevail, 

That so much death appears ] 

No ; these were vigorous as their sires, 

Nor plague nor famine came ; 
This annual tribute Death requires, 

And never waves his claim. 

Like crowded forest trees we stand, 

And some are mark'd to fall ; 
The axe will smite at G-od's command, 

And soon shall smite us all. 

Green as the bay-tree, ever green, 

With its new foliage on, 
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seea, 

I pass'd — and they were gone. 

Read, ye that run, the awful truth 

With which I charge my page ; 
A worm is in the bud of youth, 

And at the root of age. 

No present health can health ensure 

For yet an hour to come ; 
No medicine, though it oft can cure, 

Can always balk the tomb. 

And ! that, humble as my lot, 

And scorn' d as is my strain, 
These truths, though known, too much forgot 

I may not teach in vain. 

So prays your clerk with all his heart. 

And, ere he quits the pen, 
Begs you for once to take his part, 

And answer all — Amen ! 



MISdli^LAKEuUS POEMS. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

FOE THE YEAR 1788. 

Quod adest, memento 
Componere sequus. Csetera fiuminis 
Situ feruntur. — Horace. 
Improve the present hour, for all beside 
la a mere feather on a torrent's tide. 

Could I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage 
To whom the rising year shall prove his last, 
As I can number in my punctual page, 
And item-down the victims of the past; 

How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet, 
On which the press might stamp him next to die ; 
And, reading here his sentence, how replete 
With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye ! 

Time then would seem more precious than the joys 
In which he sports away the treasure now; 
And prayer more seasonable than the noise 
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. 

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink 
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, 
Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think, 
Told that his setting sun must rise no more. 

Ah self-deceived ! Could I prophetic say 
Who next is fated, and who next to fall, 
The rest might then seem privileged to play ; 
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to all. 

Observe the dappled foresters, how light 
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade — 
One falls — the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, 
Vanish at once into the darkest shade. 

Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, 
Still need repeated warnings, and at last, 
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd, 
Die self-accused of life run all to waste ! 

Sad waste ! for which no after-thrift atones. 
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin ; 
Dewdrops may deck the turf that hides the bone*, 
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. 

Learn then, ye living ! by the mouths be taught 
Of all these sepulchres, instructors true, 
That, soon or late, death also is your lot, 
And the next opening grave may yawn for yoa© 



320 COWPER S POEMS. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. 

FOR THE YEA.R 1789. 
— Placidaque tt>i demum morte quievit.— Virg. 
There calm at length he breathed his soul a-vray. 

" most delightful hour by man 

Experienced here below, 
The hour that terminates his span, 

His folly and his woe ! 
u Worlds should not bribe me back to tread 

Again life's dreary waste, 
To see again my day o'erspread 

"With all the gloomy past. 
" My home henceforth is in the skies, 

Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! 
All heaven unfolded to my eyes, 

I have no sight for you." 
So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 

Of faith's supporting rod, 
Then breathed his soul into its rest, 

The bosom of his Grod. 
He was a man among the few 

Sincere on virtue's side ; 
And all his strength from Scripture drew, 

To hourly use applied. 
That rule he prized, by that he fear'd, 

He hated, hoped, and loved ; 
Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd, 

But when his heart had roved. 
For he was frail as thou or I, 

And evil felt within ; 
But when he felt it, heaved a sigh, 

And loathed the thought of sin. 
Such lived Aspasio ; and at last 

Call'd up from earth to heaven, 
The gulf of death triumphant pass'd, 

By gales of blessing driven. 
His joys be mine, each reader cries, 

When my last hour arrives : 
They shall be yours, my verse replie% 

Such only be your lives. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. 

FOR THE YEAR 1790. 

Ne commonentem recta sperne.— Buchanar. 
Despise not mj good counsel. 

He who sits from day to day 
Where the prison'd lark is hung, 

Heedless of his loudest lay, 
Hardly knows, that he has sung. 



MISCELLANEOUS POE3IS. 327 

Where the watchman in his round 

Nightly lifts his voice on high, 
None, accustom'd to the sound, 

Wakes the sooner for his cry. 

So your verse-man I, and clerk, 

Yearly in my song proclaim 
Death at hand — yourselves his mark— 

And the foe's unerring aim. 

Duly at my time I come, 

Publishing to all aloud — 
Soon the grave must be your home. 

And your only suit, a shroud. 

But the monitory strain, 

Oft repeated in your ears, 
Seems to sound too much in vain, 

Wins no notice, wakes no fears. 
Can a truth, by all confess'd 

Of such magnitude and weight, 
Grow, by being oft impress'd, 

Trivial as a parrot's prate ] 

Pleasure's call attention wins, 

Hear it often as we may; 
New as ever seem our sins, 

Though committed every day. 

Death and judgment, heaven and hell — 

These alone, so often heard, 
No more move us than the bell 

When some stranger is interr'd. 

then, ere the turf or tomb 

Cover us from every eye, 
Spirit of instruction, come, 

Make us learn that we must die. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. 

FOR THE YEAR 1792. 

Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causae, 

Atque metus orunes et inexorabile latum 

Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acheron tis ayari ! — Viav 

Happy the mortal who has traced effects 

To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet 

And death and roaring hell's voracious fires I 

Thankless for favours from on high, 
Man thinks he fades too soon ; 

Though 'tis his privilege to die, 
Would he imx>rove the boon. 

But he, not wise enough to scan 

His blest concerns aright, 
Would gladly stretch life's little span 

To ages, if he might. 



328 cowpek's poems. 



To ages in a world of pain, 

To ages, where lie goes 
Gal I'd by affliction's heavy chain, 

And hopeless of repose. 
Strange fondness of the human heart, 

Enamour'd of its harm ! 
Strange world, that costs it so much smart, 

And still has power to charm ! 
Whence has the world her magic power ? 

Why deem we death a foe ? 
Recoil from weary life's best hour, 

And covet longer woe 1 
The cause is Conscience— Conscience oft 

Her tale of guilt renews : 
Her voice is terrible though soft, 

And dread of death ensues. 
Then anxious to be longer spared, 

Man mourns his fleeting breath : 
All evils then seem light, compared 

With the approach of death. 
'Tis judgment shakes him : there's the fear 

That prompts the wish to stay : 
He has incurr'd a long arrear, 

And must despair to pay. 
Pay I — follow Christ, and all is paid ; 

His death your peace ensures ; 
Think on the grave where He was laid, 

And calm descend to yours. 



ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. 

FOE THE TBAB 1793. 

De saeris autem hsec sit una sententia, ut conserventur.—Cic. vm Lbo. 
But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be iariolafca. 

He lives who lives to Gfod alone, 

And all are dead beside ; 
For other source than Gfod is none 

Whence life can be supplied. 

To live to God is to requite 

His love as best we may : 
To make his precepts our delight, 

His promises our stay. 

But life, within a narrow ring 

Of giddy joys comprised, 
Is falsely named, and no such thing, 

But rather death disguised. 

Can life in them deserve the name, 

Who only live to prove 
For what poor toys they can disclaim 

An endless life above % 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel ; 

Much menaced, nothing dread ; 
Have wounds, which only Grod can heal, 

Yet never ask his aid ) 

Who deem his house a useless place, 
Faith, want of common sense; 

And ardour in the Christian race, 
A hypocrite's pretence ] 

Who trample order; and the day 

Which G-od asserts his own 
Dishonour with unhallow'd play, 

And worship chance alone ] 

If scorn of Grod's commands, impress'd 

On word and deed, imply 
The better part of man unbless'd 

With life that cannot die ; 

Such want it, and that want uncured 

Till man resigns his "breath, 
Speaks him a criminal, assured 

Of everlasting death. 

Sad period to a pleasant course ! 

Yet so will G-od repay 
Sabbaths profaned without remorse, 

And mercy cast away. 



ON A GOLDFINCH, 

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE. 

Time was when I was free as air, 
The thistle's downy seed my fare, 

My drink the morning dew ; 
I perch'd at will on every spray, 
My form genteel, my plumage gay, 

My strains for ever new. 

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, 
And form genteel were all in vain, 

And of a transient date ; 
For, caught and caged, and starved to death, 
In dying sighs my little breath 

Soon pass'd the wiry grate. 

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, 
And thanks for this effectual close 

And cure of every ill ! 
More cruelty could none express; 
And I, if you had shown me less, 

Had been your prisoner still. 



330 COWPER S POEMS. 



THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE. 
The pine-apples, in triple row, 
Were basking hot, and all in blow ; 
A bee of most discerning taste 
Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd, 
On eager wing the spoiler came, 
And searched for crannies in the frame, 
Urged his attempt on every side, 
To every pane his trunk applied; 
But still in vain, the frame was tight, 
And only pervious to the light ; 
Thus having wasted half the day, 
He trimm'd his flight another way. 

Methinks, I said, in thee I find 
The sin and madness of mankind. 
To joys forbidden man aspires, 
Consumes his soul with vain desires; 
Folly the spring of his pursuit, 
And disappointment all the fruit. 
While Cynthio ogles as he passes, 
The nymph between two chariot glasses, 
She is the pine-apple, and he 
The silly unsuccessful bee. 
The maid who views with pensive air 
The show-glass fraught with glittering ware, 
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, 
But sighs at thought of empty pockets ; 
Like thine, her appetite is keen, 
But ah, the cruel glass between ! 

Our dear delights are often such, 
Exposed to view but not to touch ; 
The sight our foolish heart inflames, 
We long for pine-apples in frames ; 
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers ; 
One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers ; 
But they whom truth and wisdom lead 
Can gather honey from a weed. 



VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A 

SHOE. 
Fortune ! I thank thee : gentle goddess ! thanks ! 
Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny 
She would have thank'd thee rather hadst thou cast 
A treasure in her way; for neither meed 
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes, 
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness, 
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast, 
Hopes she from this — presumptuous, though, perhaps, 
The cobbler, leather-carving artist ! might. 
Nathless she thanks thee and accepts thy boon, 
Whatever ; not as erst the fabled cock, 
Vain-glorious fool ! unknowing what he found, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 331 

{Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah! 
Why not on me that favour (worthier sure !) 
Conferr'dst thou, goddess ! Thou art blind thou say'st : 
Enough ! — thy blindness shall excuse the deed. 

Nor does my muse no benefit exhale 
From this thy scant indulgence ! — even here 
Hints worthy sage philosophy are found; 
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song ! 
This ponderous heel of perforated hide 
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row, 
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks) 
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown 
Upbore : on this, supported oft, he stretch'd, 
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe, 
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time 
(What will not cruel time]) on a wry step 
Sever'd the strict cohesion ; when, alas i 
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace, 
Pursue his destined way with symmetry, 
And some proportion form'd, now on one side 
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys, 
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop ! 
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on. 
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet 
Of humble villager — the statesman thus, 
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads, 
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds 
His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul, 
While policy prevails, and friends prove true ; 
But, that support soon failing, by him left 
On whom he most depended, basely left, 
Betray'd, deserted ; from his airy height 
Headlong he falls ; and through the rest of life 
Drags the dull load of disappointment on. 

1748. 



AN ODE, 

ON READING RICHAEDSON'S HISTOEY OP SIR CHAELES GRANDISONc 

Say, ye apostate and profane, 
Wretches, who blush not to disdain 

Allegiance to your God, — 
Did e'er your idly wasted love 
Of virtue for her sake remove 

And lift you from the crowd ) 

Would you the race of glory run, 
iinow, the devout, and they alone, 

Are equal to the task : - 
The labours of the illustrious course 
Far other than the unaided force 

Of human vigour ask. 



832 CWPER S POEMS. 



To arm against reputed ill 

The patient heart too brave to feel 

The tortures of despair: 
Nor safer yet high-crested pride, 
When wealth flows in with every tide 

To gain admittance there. 

To rescue from the tyrant's sword 
The oppress'd; unseen and unimplored, 

To cheer the face of woe; 
From lawless insult to defend 
An orphan's right — a fallen friend, 

And a forgiven foe; 

These, these distinguish from the crowd, 
And these alone, the great and good, 

The guardians of mankind ; 
Whose bosoms with these virtues heave, 
with what matchless speed they leave 

The multitude behind ! 

Then ask ye, from what cause on earth 
Virtues like these derive their birth ] 

Derived from Heaven alone, 
Full on that favour'd breast they shine, 
Where faith and resignation join 

To call the blessing down. 

Such is that heart : — but while the muse 
Thy theme, Richardson, pursues, 

Her feeble spirits faint ; 
She cannot reach, and would not wrong, 
The subject for an angel's song, 

The hero, and the saint 1 



ir-53. 



AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ, 

'Tis not that I design to rob 

Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, . 

For thou art born sole heir, and single, 

Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; 

Not that I mean, while thus I knit 

My threadbare sentiments together, 

To show my genius or my wit, 

When Grod and you know I have neither % 

Or such as might be better shown 

By letting poetry alone. 

'Tis not with either of these views 

That I presumed to address the muse : 

But to divert a fierce banditti 

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty 1) 

That, with a black, infernal train, 

Make cruel inroads in my brain, 

And daily threaten to drive thence 

My little garrison of sense ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 333 

The fierce banditti which I mean 
Are gloomy thoughts led on by spleen. 
Then there's another reason yet, 
Which is, that I may fairly quit 
The debt, which justly became due 
The moment when I heard from you ; 
And you might grumble, crony mine, 
If paid in any other coin; 
Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows 
(I would say twenty sheets of prose), 
Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much 
As one of gold, and yours was such. 
Thus, the preliminaries settled, 
I fairly find myself pitchkettled,* 
And cannot see, though few see better, 
How I shall hammer out a letter. 

First, for a thought — since all agree — 
A thought — I have it — let me see — 
'Tis gone again — plague on't ! I thought 
I had it — but I have it not. 
Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son, 
That useful thing, her needle, gone ! 
Rake well the cinders — sweep the floor, 
And sift the dust behind the door; 
While eager Hodge beholds the prize 
In old grimalkin's glaring eyes ; 
And Gammer finds it, on her knees, 
In every shining straw she sees. 
This simile were apt enough ; 
But I've another, critic-proof! 
The virtuoso thus, at noon, 
Broiling beneath a July sun, 
The gilded butterfly pursues, 
O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews ; 
And, after many a vain essay, 
To captivate the tempting prey, 
Gives him at length the lucky pat, 
And has him safe beneath his hat : 
Then lifts it gently from the ground ; 
But, ah ! 'tis lost as soon as found ; 
Culprit his liberty regains, 
Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains. 
The sense was dark ; 'twas therefore fit 
With simile to illustrate it ; 
But as too much obscures the sight, 
As often as too little light, 
We have our similes cut short, 
For matters of more grave import. 
That Matthew's numbers run with ease, 
Each man of common sense agrees ! 
All men of common seuse allow 

• Pitchkettled, a favourite phrase at the time when this Epistle was written, ex- 
pressive of being puzzled, cr what in the "Spectator's" time would hayj been called 
bamboozled. 



334 C0WPER S POEMS. 



That Robert's lines are easy too : 

Where then the preference shall we place, 

Or how do justice in this case ] 

Matthew (says Fame), with endless pains 

Smooth'd and refined the meanest strains , 

Nor sufier'd one ill-chosen rhyme 

To escape him at the idlest time ; 

And thus o'er all a lustre cast, 

That, while the language lives shall last. 

An't please your ladyship (quoth I), 

For 'tis my business to reply; 

Sure so much labour, so much toil, 

Bespeak at least a stubborn soil : 

Theirs be the laurel- wreath decreed, 

Who both write well, and write full speed ! 

Who throw their Helicon about 

As freely as a conduit spout 1 

Friend Robert, thus like chien savant 

Lets fall a poem en passant, 

Nor needs his genuine ore refine — 

'Tis ready polish'd from the mine. 



A TALE, FOUNDED ON A FACT, 

WHICH HAPPENED IN JANUARY 1779. 

Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream 

There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme ; 

In subterraneous caves his life he led, 

Black as the mine in which he wrought for bread. 

When on a day, emerging from the deep, 

A Sabbath-day (such Sabbaths thousands keep !), 

The wages of his weekly toil he bore 

To buy a cock — whose blood might win him more ; 

As if the noblest of the feather'd kind 

Were but for battle and for death design'd ; 

As. if the consecrated hours were meant 

For sport, to minds on cruelty intent ; 

It chanced (such chances Providence obey) 

He met a fellow-labourer on the way, 

Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed ; 

But now the savage temper was reclaim'd, 

Persuasion on his lips had taken .place ; 

For all plead well who plead the cause of grace. 

His iron heart with Scripture he assail'd, 

Woo'd him to hear a sermon, and prevail'd. 

His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew, 

Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew. 

He wept ; he trembled ; cast his eyes around, 

To find a worse than he ; but none he found. 

He felt his sins, and wonder'd he should feel. 

Grace made the wound, and grace alone couldheal. 

Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and liesl 
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 335 

That holy day was wash'd with many a tear, 

Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear. 

The next, his swarthy brethren of the mine 

Learn'd, by his alter'd speech, the change divine ! 

Langh'd, when they should have wept, and swore the day 

Was nigh when he would swear as fast as they. 

" No," said the penitent, " such words shall share 

This breath no more ; devoted now to prayer. 

Oh ! if Thou seest (thine eye the future sees) 

That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these ; 

Now strike me to the ground on which I kneel, 

Ere yet this heart relapses into steel ; 

Now take me to that heaven I once defied, 

Thy presence, thy embrace! " — He spoke, and died! 



TO THE REV. MR NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN FROM 
RAMSGATE. 

That ocean you have late survey 'd, 

Those rocks I too have seen ; 
But I, afflicted and dismay'd, 

You, tranquil and serene. 

You from the flood-controlling steep 
Saw stretch'd before your view, 

With conscious joy, the threatening deep, 
No longer such to you. 

To me the waves, that ceaseless broke 

Upon the dangerous coast, 
Hoarsely and ominously spoke 

Of all my treasure lost. 

Your sea of troubles you have past, 
And found the peaceful shore ; 

I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last, 
Come home to port no more. 

Oct 1780. 



LOVE ABUSED. 

What is there in the vale of life 
Half so delightful as a wife, 
When friendship, love, and peace combine 
To stamp the marriage-bond divine ] 
The stream of pure and genuine love 
Derives its current from above ; 
And earth a second Eden shows, 
Where'er the healing water flows : 
But ah, if from the dykes and drains 
Of sensual nature's feverish veins, 
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, 
Impregnated with ooze and mud, 
Descending fast on every side, 
Once mingles with the sacred tide, 



336 C0WPERS' POEMS. 



Farewell the soul-enlivening scene ! 
The banks that wore a smiling green, 
With rank defilement overspread, 
Bewail their flowery beauties dead. 
The stream polluted, dark, and dull, 
Diffused into a Stygian pool, 
Through life's last melancholy years 
Is fed with overflowing tears : 
Complaints supply the zephyr's part, 
And sighs that heave a breaking heart. 



A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. 

Dear Anna, — Between friend and friend 
Prose answers every common end ; 
Serves, in a plain and homely way, 
To express the occurrence of the day ; 
Our health, the weather, and the news ; 
What walks we take, what books we choose ; 
And all the floating thoughts we find 
Upon the surface of the mind. 

But when a poet takes the pen, 
Far more alive than other men, 
He feels a gentle tingling come 
Down to his finger and his thumb, 
Derived from nature's noblest part, 
The centre of a glowing heart : 
And this is what the world, who kno'Tfs 
No flights above the pitch of prose, 
His more sublime vagaries slighting, 
Denominates an itch for writing. 
No wonder I, who scribble rhyme 
To catch the triflers of the time, 
And tell them truths divine and clear, 
Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear 
Who labour hard to allure and draw 
The loiterers I never saw, 
Should feel that itching and that tingling. 
With all my purpose intermingling, 
To your intrinsic merit true, 
When call'd to address myself to you. 

Mysterious are His way? whose power 
Brings forth that unexpected hour, 
When minds, that never met before, 
Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 
It is the allotment of the skies, 
The hand of the Supremely Wise, 
That guides and governs our affections, 
And plans and orders our connexions ; 
Directs us in our distant road, 
And marks the bounds of our abode. 
Thus we were settled when you found us 5 
Peasants and children all around us, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 33? 

Not dreaming of so dear a friend. 
Deep in tlie abyss of Silver-End. - * 
Thus Martha, e'en against her will, 
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ; 
And you, though you must needs prefer 
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,t 
Are come from distant Loire, to choose 
A cottage on the banks of Ouse. 
This page of Exovidence quite new, 
And now just opening to our view, 
Employs our present thoughts and paina 
To guess and spell what it contains : 
But day by day, and year by year, 
Will make the dark enigma clear ; 
And furnish us, perhaps, at last, 
Like other scenes already past, 
With proof, that we, and our affairs, 
Are part of a Jehovah's cares ; 
For Grod unfolds by slow degrees 
The purport of his deep decrees ; 
Sheds every hour a clearer light 
In aid of our defective sight ; 
And spreads, at length, before the soul, 
A beautiful and perfect whole, 
Which busy man's inventive brain 
Toils to anticipate in vain. 

Say, Anna, had you never known 
The beauties of a rose full blown, 
Could you, though luminous your eye, 
By looking on the bud descry, 
Or guess with a prophetic power, 
The future splendour of the flower 1 
Just so the Omnipotent, who turns 
The system of a world's concerns, 
From mere minutiae can educe 
Events of most important use ; 
And bid a dawning sky display 
The blaze of a meridian day. 
The works of man tend, one and all, 
As needs they must, from great to small ; 
And vanity absorbs at length 
The monuments of human strength. 
But who can tell how vast the plan 
Which this day's incident began] 
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion 
For our dim-sighted observation; 
It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird 
That cleaves the yielding air unheard, 
And yet may prove, when understood, 
A harbinger of endless good. 

* An obscure pari of Olney, adjoining tothe residence of Cowper. which faced tbs 
market-place. 
t Lady Austen's residence in France. 



338 oowper's poems. 



Not that I deem, or mean to call 
Friendship a blessing cheap or small : 
But merely to remark, that ours, 
Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, 
Rose from a seed of tiny size 
That seem'd to promise no such priie; 
A transient visit intervening, 
And made almost without a meaning 
(Hardly the effect of inclination, 
Much less of pleasing expectation), 
Produced a friendship, then begun, 
That has cemented us in one ; 
And placed it in our power to prove, 
By long fidelity and love, 
That Solomon has wisely spoken ; 
" A threefold cord is not soon broken." 

D«o. 1781. 



THE COLUBRIAD. 



Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast 

Three kittens sat ; each kitten look'd aghast. 

I, passing swift and inattentive by, 

At the three kittens cast a careless eye ; 

Not much concern'd to know what they did there ; 

Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. 

But presently a loud and furious hiss 

Caused me to stop and to exclaim, ' ( What's this 1" 

When lo ! upon the threshold met my view 

With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, 

A viper long as Count de Grrasse's queue. 

Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws, 

Darting it full against a kitten's nose ; 

Who, having never seen, in field or house, 

The like, sat still and silent as a mouse ; 

Cnly projecting with attention due, 

Her whisker 'd face, she asked him, " Who are you I" 

Cn to the hall went I, with pace not slow, 

But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe : 

With which well arm'd I hastened to the spot, 

To find the viper, but I found him not. 

And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around, 

Found only that he was not to be found. 

But still the kittens, sitting as before, 

Sat watching close the bottom of the door. 

" I hope," said I, " the villain I would kill 

Has slipp'd between the door and the door-sill ; 

And if I'make despatch, and follow hard, 

No doubt but I shall find him in the yard : " 

For long ere now it should have been rehearsed, 

'Twas in the garden that I found him first. 

E'en there I found him, there the full-grown cat, 

His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 339 



As curious as the kittens erst had been 

To learn what this phenomenon might mean. 

Fill'd with heroic ardour at the sight, 

And fearing every moment he would bite, 

And rob our household of our only cat 

That was of age to combat with a rat : 

With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door, 

And taught him never to come these no mors. 

1783. 



SOXG. OX PEACE. 

Written in the summer of 17S3, at the request of Lady Austen, who gars 
the sentiment. 

Air — " My fond Shepherds of late." 

No longer I follow a sound ; 
No longer a dream I pursue ; 

happiness ! not to be found, 
Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 

1 have sought thee in splendour and dress, 
In the regions of pleasure and taste ; 

I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess, 
But have proved thee a vision at last. 

An humble ambition and hope 
The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 

'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope, 
And the summit of all our desires. 

Peace may be the lot of the mind 
That seeks it in meekness and love ; 

But rapture and bliss are confined 
To the glorified spirits above. 



SONG. 

AI*o mitten at the request of Lady Austcs 

Ars— " The Lass of Peatie's Mill." 

When all within is peace, 

How Nature seems to smile I 
Delights that never cease 

The livelong day beguile. 
From morn to dewy eve 

With open hand she showers 
Fresh blessings, to deceive 

And soothe the silent hours. 

It is content of heart 

Gives Nature power to please : 
The mind that feels no smart 

Enlivens all it sees ; 
Can make a wintry sky 

Seem bright as smiling May, 
And evening's closing eye 

As peep of early day. 



340 cowper's poems. 



The vast majestic globe, 

So beauteously array'd 
In Nature's various robe, 

With wondrous skill display'd, 
Is to a mourner's heart 

A dreary wild at best ; 
It nutters to depart, 

And longs to be at rest. 



VEHSES SELECTED FROM AN OCCASIONAL POEM- ENTITLED 
" VALEDICTION." 

Friendship ! cordial of the human breast ! 
So little felt, so fervently profess'd ! 
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years ; 
The promise of delicious fruit appears : 
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth, 
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth ; 
But soon, alas ! detect the rash mistake 
That sanguine inexperience loves to make ; 
And view with tears the expected harvest lost, 
Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost. 
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part 
Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart, 
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove 
A thousand ways the force of genuine love. 
He may be cali'd to give up health and gain, 
To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, 
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan, 
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own. 
The heart of man, for such a task too frail, 
When most relied on is most sure to fail ; 
And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe, 
Starts from its office like a broken bow. 

Votaries of business and of pleasure prove 
Faithless alike in friendship and in love. 
Retired from all the circles of the gay, 
And all the crowds that bustle life away, 
To scenes where competition, envy, strife, 
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life, 
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find _ 
One who has known, and has escaped mankind ; 
Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away 
The manners, not the morals, of the day : 
With him, perhaps with her (for men have known 
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown), 
Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot, 
All former friends forgiven and forgot, 
Down to the close of life's fast fading scene, 
Union of hearts without a flaw between. 
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise, 
If G-od give health, that sunshine of our days ! 
And if he add, a blessing shared by few, 
Content of heart, more praises still are due — 



MISCELLANEOUS F 34i 



But if lie grant a friend, that boon possess'd 
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest ; 
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies, 
Born from above and made divinely wise, 
He gives, what bankrupt nature never can, 
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man, 
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew, 
A soul, an image of hi m self, and therefore true. 

Not. 1783, 

EPITAPH ON DR JOHNSON. 

Here Johnson lies — a sage by all allow'd, 
Whom to have bred may well make England proud, 
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, 
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought ; 
Whose verse may claim — grave, masculine, and strong- 
Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; 
Who many a noble gift from heaven possess'd- 
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. 
man, immortal by a double prize, 
By fame on earth— by glory in the skies ! 

Jan. 1785. 

TO MISS C , ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

How many between east and west 

Disgrace their parent earth, 
Whose deeds constrain us to detest 

The day that gave them birth ! 
Not so when Stella's natal morn 

Revolving months restore, 
We can rejoice that she was born, 

And wish her born once more ! 

1786. 

GRATITUDE. 

ADDEES3ED TO LADT HESKETH. 

This cap, that so stately appears, 

With ribbon-bound tassel on high, 
Which seems by the crest that it rears 

Ambitious of brushing the sky : 
This cap to my cousin I owe, 

She gave it, and gave me beside, 
Wreath'd into an elegant bow, 

The ribbon with which it is tied. 

This wheel-footed studying chair, 

Contrived both for toil and repose, 
Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair, 

In which I both scribble and dose, 
Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, 

And rival in lustre of that 
In which, or astronomy lies, 

Fair Cassiopeia sat : 



542 COWPER'S POEMS. 



These carpets so soft to the foot, 

Caledonia's traffic and pride ! 
Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot, 

Escaped from a cross-country ride ! 
This table, and mirror within, 

Secure from collision and dust, 
At which I oft shave cheek and chin 

And periwig nicely adjust : 

This moveable structure of shelves, 

For its beauty admired and its use, 
And charged with octavos and twelves, 

The gayest I- had to produce ; 
Where, naming in scarlet and gold, 

My poems enchanted I view, 
And hope in due time, to behold 

My Iliad and Odyssey too : 

This china, that decks the alcove, 

Which here people call a buffet, 
But what the gods call it above 

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet : 
These curtains that keep the room warm 

Or cool, as the season demands, 
Those stoves that for pattern and form 

Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands : 

All these are not half that I owe 

To one, from our earliest youth, 
To me ever ready to show 

Benignity, friendship, and truth ; 
For Time, the destroyer declared 

And foe of our perishing kind, 
If even her face he has spared, 

Much less could he alter her mind. 

Thus compass'd about with the goods 

And chattels of leisure and ease, 
I indulge my poetical moods 

In many such fancies as these; 
And fancies I fear they will seem — 

Poets' goods are not often so fine; 
The poets will swear that I dream 

When I sing of the splendour of mine, 

1786. 



LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF 
ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. 

COEDIATELT AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON. 

Farewell ! endued with all that could engage 
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age ! 
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd 
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 343 

In life's last stage (0 blessings rarely found !), 
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd; 
Through every period of this changeful state 
Unchanged thyself— wise, good, affectionate ! 

Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem 
O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme, 
Although thy worth be more than half supprest, 
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. 

June 1788. 



ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON. 

THE NIGHT OP THE SEVENTEENTH OF MARCH 1789. 

When, long sequester'd from his throne, 

G-eorge took his seat again, 
By right of worth, not blood alone, 

Entitled here to reign, 
Then loyalty, with all his lamps 

New trimm'd, a gallant show ! 
Chasing the darkness and the damps, 

Set London in a glow. 
'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares 

Which form'd the chief display, 
These most resembling cluster'd stars, 

Those the long milky way. 
Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, 

And rockets flew, self-driven, 
To hang their momentary fires 

Amid the vault of heaven. 
So, fire with water to compare, 

The ocean serves, on high 
Up -spouted by a whale in air, 

To express unwieldy joy. 
Had all the pageants of the world 

In one procession join'd, 
And all the banners been unforl'd 

That heralds e'er design'd. 
For no such sight had England's queen 

Forsaken her retreat, 
Where Greorge, recover'd, made a scene 

Sweet always, doubly sweet. 
Yet glad she came that night to prove, 

A witness undescried, 
How much the object of her love 

Was loved by all beside. 
Darkness the skies had mantled o'er 

In aid of her design — 
Darkness, Queen ! ne'er called before 

To veil a deed of thine ! 



344 COWPER's POEMS. 



On borrow'd wheels away she flies, 

Resolved to be unknown, 
And gratify no curious eyes 

That night except her own. 

Arrived, a night like noon she sees, 
And hears the million hum ; 

As all by instinct, like the bees, 
Had known their sovereign come. 

Pleased she beheld, aloft portray'd 

On many a splendid wall, 
Emblems of health and heavenly aid, 

And Greorge- the theme of all. 

Unlike the enigmatic line, 

So difficult to spell, 
Which shook Belshazzar at his wine 

The night his city fell. 

Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, 

But with a joyful tear, 
None else, except in prayer for him, 

George ever drew from h r . 

It was a scene in every part 

Like those in fable feign'd, 
And seem'd by some magician's art 

Created and sustain'd. 

But other magic there, she knew, 

Had been exerted none, 
To raise such wonders in her view, 

Save love of Greorge alone. 

That cordial thought her spirit cheer'd. 

And, through the cumbrous throng, 
Not else unworthy to be fear'd, 

Convey'd her calm along. 

So, ancient poets say, serene 
The sea-maid rides the waves, 

And fearless of the billowy scene, 
Her peaceful bosom laves. 

With more than astronomic eyes 
She view'd the sparkling show ; 

One Georgian star adorns the skies, 
She myriads found below. 

Yet let the glories of a night 
Like that, once seen, suffice, 

Heaven grant us no such future sight, 
Such previous woe the price ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. S45 

u , . 

THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND* 

Muse — hide his name of whom I slug, 
Lest his surviving house thou bring 

For his sake into scorn, 
Nor speak the school from which he drew 
The much or little that he knew, 

Nor place where he was born. 

That such a man once was, may seem 

Worthy of record (if the theme • 

Perchance may credit win) 
. For proof to man, what man may prove, 
If grace depart, and demons move 

The source of guilt within. 

This man (for since the howling wild 
Disclaims him, man he must be styled) 

Wanted no good below, 
Grentle he was, if gentle birth 
Could make him such, and he had worth, 

If wealth can worth bestow. 

In social talk and ready jest, 
He shone superior at the feast, 

And qualities of mind, 
Illustrious in the eyes of those 
Whose gay society he chose, 

Possess'd of every kind. 

Methinks I see him powder'd red, 
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head 

Wing'd broad on either side, 
The mossy rosebud not so sweet; 
His steeds superb, his carnage neat, 

As luxury could provide. 

Can such be cruel] Such can be 
Cruel as hell, and so was he; 

A tyrant entertain'd 
With barbarous sports, whose fell delight 
Was to encourage mortal fight 

'Twixt birds to battle train'd. 

One feather'd champion he possess'd, 
His darling far beyond the rest, 
Which never knew disgrace, 
Nor e'er had fought but he made flow 
The life-blood of his fiercest foe, 
The Caesar of his race. 

* Written on reading the following, in the obituary of the Gentleman's Magazine for 
April 1789:— " At Tottenham, John Ardesoif, Esq., a young man of large fortune, and, 
in the splendour of his carriages and horses, rivalled by few country gentlemen. Hii 
table was that of hospitality, where, it may be said, he sacrificed too much to convi- 
viality ; but, if he had his foibles, he had his merits also, that far outweighed them. 
Mr A. was very fond of cock-fighting, and had a favourite cock, upon which he had won 
many profitable matches. The last bet he laid upon this cock he lost ; which so enraged 
him, that he had the bird tied to a spit and roasted alive before a large fire. Th» 



S46 COWPER S POEMS. 



It chanced at last, when, on a day, 
He push'd him to the desperate fray, 

His courage drooped, he fled. 
The master storm'd, the prize was lost, 
And, instant, frantic at the cost, 

He doom'd his favourite dead. 

He seized him fast, and from the pit 
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, 

And, Bring me cord, he cried ; 
# The cord was brought, and, at his word, 

To that dire implement the bird, 

Alive and struggling, tied. 

The horrid sequel asks a veil ; 
And all the terrors of the tale 

That can be shall be sunk — 
Led by the sufferer's screams aright 
His shock'd companions view the sight, 

And him with fury drunk. 

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate 
For the old warrior at the grate : 

He, deaf to pity's call, 
Whirl' d round him rapid as a wheel 
His culinary club of steel, 

Death menacing on all. 

But vengeance hung not far remote, 

For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat, 

And heaven and earth defied, 
Big with a curse too closely pent, 
That struggled vainly for a vent, 

He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, 
To point the judgment of the skies ; 

But judgments plain as this, 
That, sent for man's instruction, bring 
A written label on their wing, 

'Tis hard to read amiss. 

May 1789. 

TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. 

BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OF HtS AT WESTMINSTER. 

Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind, 
While young, humane, conversable, and kind, 
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then, 
Now grown a villain, and the worst of men. 
But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd 
And worried thee, as not themselves the best. 

screams of the miserable animal were so affecting, that some gentlemen who were pre- 
sent attempted to interfere, which so enraged Mr A., that he seized a poker, and -with 
tne most furious vehemence declared, that he would kill the first man who interposed; 
l>ut, in the midst of his passionate asseverations, he fell down dead upon the spot. 
Such, we are assured, were the «ircumstances which attended the death of this great 
pillar of humanity." 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 347 

TO MRS THROCKMORTON, 

OS HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE, " AD LIBROI SCU12 ." 

Maria, could Horace have guess'd 

What honour awaited his ode 
To his own little volume address'd, 

The honour which you have bestow'd ; 
Who have traced it in characters here, 

So elegant, even, and neat, 
He had laugh'd at the critical sneer 

Which he seems to have trembled to meet, 

And sneer, if you please, he had said, 

A nymph shall hereafter arise, 
Who shall give me, when you are all dead, 

The glory your malice denies ; 
Shall dignity give to my lay, 

Although but a mere bagatelle ; 
And even a poet shall say, 

Nothing ever was written so well. 

Feb. 1790. 



TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT, 

ON WHICH I DINED THIS DAT, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784. 

Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued 

Thy pastime ? when wast thou an egg new spawn'd, 

Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste ? 

Roar as they might, the overbearing winds 

That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe — 

And in thy minikin, and embryo state, 

Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed, 

Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd 

The joints of many a stout and gallant bark, 

And whelm'd them in the unexplored abyss. 

Indebted to no magnet and no chart, 

Nor under guidance of the polar fire, 

Thou wast a voyager on many coasts. 

Grazing at large in meadows submarine, 

Where flat Batavia, just emerging, peeps 

Above the brine — where Caledonia's rocks 

Beat back the surge — and where Hibernia shoots 

Her wondrous causeway far into the main. 

— Wherever thou hast fed, thou little though t'st, 

And I not more, that I should feed on thee. 

Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish, 

To him who sent thee ! and success, as oft 

As it descends into the billowy gulf, 

To the same drag that caught thee !— Fare thee well ! 

Thy lot thy brethren of the slimy fin 

Would envy, could they know that thou wast doom'd 

To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse. 



348 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE 

ERECTED AT THE SOWING OP A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGTOH* 
THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ., 1790. 

Other stones the era tell 
"When some feeble mortal fell ; 
I stand here to date the birth 
Of these hardy sons of earth. 

Which shall longest brave the sky, 
Storm and* frost — these oaks or 1 1 
Pass an age or two away, 
I must moulder and decay, 
But the year's that crumble me 
Shall invigorate the tree, 
Spread its branch, dilate its size, 
Lift its summit to the skies. 

Cherish honour, virtue, truth, 
So shalt thou prolong thy youth. 
Wanting these, however fast 
Man be fix'd and form'd to last, 
He is lifeless even now, 
Stone at heart, and cannot grow. 

June 1790. 



ANOTHER INSCRIPTION 

FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE 
IN THE FOLLOWING TEAR. 



Reader ! behold a monument 
That asks no sigh or tear, 

Though it perpetuate the event 
Of a great burial here. 



TO MRS KING, 

OK HER K1SD PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK COUNTE2FANI 
OF HER OWN MAKING. 

The bard, if e'er he feel at all, 
Must sure be quicken'd by a call 

Both on his heart and head, 
To pay with tuneful thanks the care 
And kindness of a lady fair, 

Who deigns to deck his bed. 

A bed like this, in ancient time, 
On Ida's barren top sublime 

(As Homer's epic shows), 
Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, 
Without the aid. of sun or showers, 

For Jove and Juno rose. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 319 

Less beautiful, however gay, 

Is that which in the scorching day 

Receives the weary swain, 
Who, laying his long scythe aside, 
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied, 

Till roused to toil again. 
What labours of the loom I see ! 
Looms numberless have groan'd for me ! 

Should every maiden come 
To scramble for the patch that bears 
The impress of the robe she wears, 

The bell would toll for some. 

And oh, what havoc would ensue ! 

This bright display of every hue 
All in a moment fled ! 

As if a storm should strip the bowers 

Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flowers- 
Each pocketing a shred. 

Thanks then to every gentle fair 

Who will not come to peck me bare 
As bird of borrow'd feather, 

And thanks to one above them all, 

The gentle fair of Pertenhall, 
Who put the whole together. 

Augnst 1780. 



IN MEMORY OP 

THE LATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ. 

Poets attempt the noblest task they can, 
Praising the Author of all good in man, 
And, next, commemorating worthies lost, 
The dead in whom that good abounded most. 

Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more 
Famed for thy probity from shore to shore, 
Thee, Thornton ! worthy in some page to shine. 
As honest and more eloquent than mine, 
I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, 
The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. 
Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed ; 
It were to weep that goodness has its meed, 
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, 
And glory for the virtuous when they die. 

What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard. 
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford, 
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe 
By virtue suffer'd combating below ) 
That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means 
To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, 
TiU thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn 
As midnight, and despairing of a morn, 
Thou hadst an industry in doing good, 
Restless as his who toils and sweats for food; 



350 COWPEK S POEMS. 



Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth 

By rust imperishable or by stealth, 

And if the genuine worth of gold depend 

On application to its noblest end, 

Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven 

Surpassing all that mine or mint had given. 

And, though God made thee of a nature prone 

To distribution boundless of thy own, 

And still by motives of religious force 

Impell'd thee more to that heroic course, 

Yet was thy liberality discreet, 

Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat ; 

And, though in act unwearied, secret still, 

As in some solitude the summer rill 

Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, 

And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. 

Such was thy charity : no sudden start, 
After long sleep, of passion in the heart, 
But steadfast principle, and, in its kind, 
Of close relation to the Eternal Mind, 
Traced easily to its true source above, 
To him whose works bespeak his nature, love. 

Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make 
This record of thee for the Gospel's sake ; 
That the incredulous themselves may see 
Its use and power exemplified in thee. 

Hor. 1790. 



THE FOUPw AGES. 

(a brief fragment of an extensive projected poem.) 
" I could be well content, allowed the use 
Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd 
From worn-out follies, now acknowledged such, 
To recommence life's trial, in the hope 
Of fewer errors, on a second proof! " 

Thus, while grey evening lull'd the wind, and eall'd 
Fresh odours from the shrubbery at my side, 
Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused, 
And held accustom'd conference with my heart ; 
When from within it thus a voice replied : 

' ' Could'st thou in truth'? and art thou taught at length 
This wisdom, and but this, from all the past ] 
Is not the pardon of thy long arrear, 
Time wasted, violated laws, abuse 
Of talents, judgment, mercies, better far 
Than opportunity vouchsafed to err 
"With less excuse, and, haply, worse effect?" 

I heard, and acquiesced : then to and fro 
Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck, 
My gravelly bounds, from self to human kind 
I pass'd, and next consider'd — what is man. 

Knows he his origin] can he ascend 
By reminiscence to his earliest date] 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 351 

Slept lie in Adam ] And in those from him 

Through numerous generations, till he found 

At length his destined moment to be bom] 

Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb] 

Deep mysteries both ! which schoolmen must have toil'd 

To unriddle, and have left them mysteries still. 

It is an evil incident to man, 
And of the worst, that unexplored he leaves 
Truths useful and attainable with ease, 
To search forbidden deeps, where mystery lies 
Not to be solved, and useless if it might. 
Mysteries are food for angels ; they digest 
With ease, and find them nutriment ; but man, 
While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean 
His manna from the ground, or starve and die. 

U&f 179L 



THE RETIRED CAT. 

A poet's cat, sedate and grave 
As poet well could wish to have, 
Was much addicted to inquire 
For nooks to which she might retire, 
And where, secure as mouse in chink, 
She might repose, or sit and think. 
I know not where she caught the trick— 
Nature perhaps herself had cast her 
In such a mould philosophique, 
Or else she learn'd it of her master. 
Sometimes ascending, debonnair, 
An apple-tree, or lofty pear, 
Lodged with convenience in the fork, 
She watch'd the gardener at his work ; 
Sometimes her ease and solace sought 
In an old empty watering pot : 
There, wanting nothing save a fan, 
To seem some nymph in her sedan 
Apparell'd in exactest sort, 
And ready to be borne to court. 

But love of change, it seems, has place 
Not only in our wiser race ; 
Cats also feel, as well as we, 
That passion's force, and so did she. 
Her climbing, she began to find, 
Exposed her too much to the wind. 
And the old utensil of tin 
Was cold and comfortless within : 
She therefore wish'd instead of those 
Some place of more serene repose, 
Where neither cold might come, nor air 
Too rudely wanton with her hair, 
And sought it in the likeliest mode 
Within her master's snug abode. 



352 C0WPER S POEMS. 



A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
With linen of the softest kind, 
With such as merchants introduce 
From India, for the ladies' use, 
A drawer impending o'er the rest, 
Half open in the topmost chest, 
Of depth enough, and none to spare, 
Invited her to slumber there ; 
Puss, with delight beyond expression, 
Survey'd the scene, and took possession. 
Eecumbent at her ease, ere long, 
And lull'd by her own humdrum song, 
She left the cares of life behind, 

And slept as she would sleep her last, 
When in came, housewifely inclined, 

The chambermaid, and shut it fast ; 
By no malignity impell'd, 
But all unconscious whom it held. 

Awaken'd by the shock (cried Puss) 
" Was ever cat attended thus] 
The open drawer was left, I see, 
Merely to prove a nest for me, 
For soon as I was well composed, 
Then came the maid, and it was closed. 
How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sweet ! 

what a delicate retreat ! 

1 will resign myself to rest 
Till Sol, declining in the west, 
Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 
Susan will come and let me out." 

The evening came, the sun descended, 
And Puss remain'd still unattended. 
The night roll'd tardily away 
(With her indeed 'twas never day), 
The sprightly morn her course renew'd, 
The evening grey again ensued, 
x\nd Puss came into mind no more 
Than if entomb'd the day before. 
With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, 
She now presaged approaching doom, 
Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd, 
Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. 

That night, by chance, the poet watching, 
Heard an inexplicable scratching; 
His noble heart went pit-a-pat, 
And to himself he said— " What's that]" 
He drew the curtain at his side, 
And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied. 
Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd 
Something imprison'd in the chest, 
And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
Resolved it should continue there. 
At length a voice which well he knew^ 
A long and melancholy mew. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 8fc3 

Saluting his poetic ears, 
Consoled him and dispell'd Ms fears : 
He left Ms bed, he trod the floor, 
He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, 
The lowest first, and without stop 
The rest in order to the top. 
For 'tis a truth well known to most, 
That whatsoever thing is lost, 
We seek it, ere it come to light, 
In every cranny but the right. 
Forth skipped the cat, not now replete 
As erst with airy self-conceit, 
Nor in her own fond apprehension 
A theme for all the world's attention, 
But modest, sober, cured of all 
Her notions hyperbolical, 
And wishing for a place of rest 
Any thing rather than a chest. 
Then stepp'd the poet into bed_ 
With this reflection in his hea:! : 

Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence : 
The man who dreams himself so great, 
And his importance of such weight, 
That all around, in all that's done, 
Must move and act for him alone, 
"Will learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation, 
2m. 



THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS, 

Two nymphs, both nearly of an age, 
Of numerous charms posst ss'd, 

A warm dispute once chanced to wage, 
TV hose temper was the best. 

The worth of each had been complete, 

Had both alike been mild : 
But one, although her smile was sweety 

Frown M oftener than she smiled. 

And in her humour > when she frown'd. 

Would raise her voice, and roar, 
And shake with fury to the ground 

The garland that she wore. 

The other was of gentler cast, 

From all such frenzy clear, 
Her frowns were seldom kncwn to last, 

And never proved severe. 



354 C0WPERS POEMS. 

To poets of renown in song 

The nymphs referr'd the cause, 
Who, strange to tell, all judg'd it wrong, 

And gave misplaced applause. 

They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, 

The flippant and the scold, 
And though she changed her mood so oft, 

That failing left untold. 

No judges, sure, were e'er so mad, 

Or so resolved to err — 
In short the charms her sister had 

They lavish'd all on her. 

Then thus the god, whom fondly they 

Their great inspirer call, 
Was heard, one genial summer's day. 

To reprimand them all. 

" Since thus ye have combined," he said, 

" My favourite nymph to slight, 
Adorning May, that peevish maid, 

With June's undoubted right, 

" The minx shall, for your folly's sake, 

Still prove herself a shrew, 
Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, 

And pinch your noses blue." 

May 1791. 

YARDLEY OAK* 

Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all 

That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth 

(Since which I number threescore winters past), 

A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps, 

As now, and with excoriate forks deform, 

Relics of ages ! could a mind, imbued 

With truth from heaven, created thing adore, 

I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee . 

It seems idolatry with some excuse, 
When our forefather druids in their oaks 
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet 
Unpurified by an authentic act 
Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, 
Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom 
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste 
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. 

Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball 
Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay, 
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd 
The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down 

* This tree had been known by the name of Judith for many ages. Perhaps it re- 
ceived that name on being planted by the Countess Judith, niece to the Conqueror, 
srhom he gave in marriage to the English Earl Waltheof, with the counties of North- 
ampton and Huntingdon as her dower. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 855 



Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs 
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. 
But fate thy growth decreed ; autumnal rains 
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil 
Designed thy cradle ; and a skipping deer, 
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared 
The soft receptacle, in which, secure, 
Thy rudiments should sleep the -winter through. 

So fancy dreams. Disprove it, if you can, 
Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search 
Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, 
Sifts half the pleasures of short life away ! 

Thou fell'st mature ; and, in the loamy clod 
Swelling with vegetative force instinct, 
Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled twins, 
Now stars: two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; 
A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, 
And, all the elements thy puny growth 
Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. 

Who lived when thou wast such ) Oh, could'st thou speak, 
As in Dodona once thy kindred trees 
Oracular, I would not curious ask 
The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth 
Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. 

By thee I might correct, erroneous offc, 
The clock of history, facts and events 
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 
Recovering, and misstated setting right — 
Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again ! 

Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods; 
And time hath made thee what thou art — a cave 
For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs 
O'erhung the champaign; and the numerous flocks 
That grazed it stood beneath that ample cope 
Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm. 
No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived 
Thy popularity, and art become 
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing 
Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. 

While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd 
Of treeship — first a seriling, hid in grass ; 
Then twig; then sapling; and, as century roll'd 
Slow after century, a giant bulk 
Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root 
Upheaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd 
With prominent wens globose — till at the last 
The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict 
On other mighty ones, found also thee. 

What exhibitions various hath the world 
Witness' d of mutability in all 
That we account most durable below? 
Change is the diet on which all subsist, 
Created changeable, and change at last, 
Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat 



356 OOWPER'S POEMS. 

Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam 
Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds- 
Calm and alternate storm, moisture, and di ought, 
Invigorate by turns the springs of life 
In all that live, plant, animal, and man, 
And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, 
Fine passing thought, e'en in their coarsest works, 
Delight in agitation, yet sustain 
The force that agitates not unimpair'd ; 
But worn by frequent impulse, to the cause 
Of their best tone their dissolution owe. 

Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still 
The great and little of thy lot, thy growth 
From almost nullity into a state 
Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, 
Slow, into such magnificent decay. 
Time was when, settling on thy leaf, a fly 
Could shake thee to the root — and time has been 
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age 
Thou haclst within thy bole solid contents 
That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck 
Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortuous arms, 
The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present 
To the four-quarter 'd winds, robust and bold, 
Warp'd into tough knee-timber, many a load ! * 
But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days 
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply 
The bottomless demands of contest waged 
For senatorial honours. Thus to time 
The task was left to whittle thee away 
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, 
Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, 
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved, 
Achieved a labour which had, far and wide, 
By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. 

Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self 
Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind, that seems 
A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, 
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, 
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st 
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. 
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, 
A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs. 
Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp 
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 

So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet 
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, 
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth 
Pulverized of venality, a shell 
Stands now, and semblance only of itself ! 

Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them ofi 
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild 

* Knee timber is found in the crooked arms of oak. which, by reason of their distor- 
tion, are easily adjusted to the angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides meet 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. S57 



With bow and shaft have burnt them. Some have left 
A splinter'd stump bleach'd to a snowy white ; 
x\nd some memorial none where once they grew. 
Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 
Proof not contemptible of what she can, 
Even where death predominates. The spring 
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force 
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood, 
So much thy juniors, who their birth received 
Half a millennium since the date of thine. 

But since, although well qualified by age 
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice 
May be expected from thee, seated here 
On thy distorted root, with hearers none, 
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform 
Myself the oracle, and will discourse 
In my own ear such matter as I may. 

One man alone, the father of us all, 
Drew not his life fi'om woman ; never gazed, 
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, 
On all around him ; learn'd not by degrees, 
Nor owed articulation to his ear ; 
But, moulded by his Maker into man 
At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd 
All creatures, with precision understood 
Their purport, uses, properties, assigned 
To each his name significant, and, nll'd 
With love and wisdom, render''! back to Heaven 
In praise harmonious the first air he drew. 
He was excused the penalties of dull 
Minority. No tutor charged his hand 
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his miiid 
With problems. History, not wanted yet, 
Lean'd on her elbow, watching time, whose course, 
Eventful, should supply her with a theme. . . . 

1791. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE, 

WHICH TUTS AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW TEAR'S DAT, 

Whence is it that, amazed, I hear 

From yonder wither'd spray, 
This foremost mom of all the year,- 

The melody of May ? 

And why, since thousands would be proud 

Of such a favour shown, 
Am I selected from the crowd 

To witness it alone ? 

Srng'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, 

For that I also long 
Have practised in the groves like thee, 

Though not like thee in sorig ? 



358 COWPERS POEMS. 

Or sing'st thou, rather, under fcroe 
Of some divine command, 

Commission'd to presage a course 
Of happier days at hand ] 

Thrice welcome then ! for many a long 
And joyless year have I, 

As thou to-day, put forth my song 
Beneath a wintry sky. 

But thee no wintry skies can harm, 
Who only need'st to sing 

To make e'en January charm, 
And every season spring. 

1793. 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 

OF MISS PATTY MORE'S, SISTER OF HANNAH MORE. 

In vain to live from age to age 
While modern bards endeavour, 

I write my name in Patty's page, 
And gain my point for ever. 

March 6, 1792. W. COWPEP. 



SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. 

Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, 
Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd 
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the enthrall'd 

From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. 
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd, 
" Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain. 

Thou hast achieved a part ; hast gain'd the ear 

Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause ; 

Hope smiles, joy springs, and, though cold caution paus<3 
And weave delay, the better hour is near 
That shall remunerate thy toils severe, 

By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. 

Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love 

From ail the just on earth, and all the blest above. 

April 16, 1792. 



EPIGRAM 

PRINTED IN THE NORTHAMPTON MERCURY. 

To purify their wine, some people bleed 

A lamb into the barrel, and succeed; 

No nostrum, planters say, is half so good 

To make fine sugar as a negro's blood. 

Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things, 

And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs, 

'Tis in the blood of innocence alone — 

Good cause why planters never try their own. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 359 

TO DR AUSTIN, 

OF CECIJi STREET, LONDON. 

Austin ! accept a grateful verse from me, 
The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. 
Loved by the muses, Lhy ingenuous mind 
Pleasing requital in my verse may find ; 
Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of Time aside, 
Immortalizing names which else had died: 
And ! could I command the glittering wealth 
With which sick kings are glad to purchase health ! 
Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live, 
Were in the power of verse like mine to give, 
I would not recompense his arts with less, 
Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. 

Friend of my friend ! * I love thee, though unknown, 
And boldly call thee, being his, my own. 

Ma j 26, 1792. 



CATHARINA: 

THE SECOND PAST .* ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEORGE COURTENAY, ESQ, 

Believe it or not, as you choose, 

The doctrine is certainly true, 
That the future is known to the muse, 

And poets are oracles too. 
I did but express a desire 

To see Catharina at home, 
At the side of my friend George's fire, 

And lo — she is actually come ! 

Such prophecy some may despise, 

But the wish of a poet and friend 
Perhaps is approved in the skies, 

And therefore attains to its end. 
'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth 

From a bosom effectually warm'd 
With the talents, the graces, and worth 

Of the person for whom it was form'd. 

Maria + would leave us, I knew, 

To the grief and regret of us all. 
But less to our grief, could we view 

Catharina the Queen of the Hall. 
And therefore I wish'd as I did, 

And therefore this union of hands : 
Not a whisper was heard to forbid, 

But all cry — Amen — to the bans. 

Since, therefore, I seem to incur 

No danger of wishing in vain 
When making good wishes for her, 

I will e'en to my wishes again — 

* Hayley. f Lady Throckmorton. 



I 
860 cowper's poems. 



With one I have made her a wife, 
And now I will try with another, 

Which I cannot suppress for my life — 
How soon I can make her a mother. 

Juno 1793. 



EPITAPH ON FOP, 

A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. 

Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, 

Here moulders one whose hones some honour claim. 

No sycophant, although of spaniel race, 

And though no hound, a martyr to the chace — 

Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice, 

Your haunts no longer echo to his voice; 

This record of his fate exulting view. 

He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. 

" Yes," — the indignant shade of Fop replies — 
" And worn with vain pursuit, man also dies." 

August 1792. 



SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. 

ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, 

Drawn at Eartham in the 61st year of my age, and in the mouths cf 
August and September 1791. 

Romnet, expert infallibly to trace 
On chart or canvas, not the form alone 
And semblance, but however faintly shown, 

The mind's impression too on every face — 

With strokes that time ought never to erase, 
Thou hast so pencilTd mine, that though I own 
The subject worthless, I have never known 

The artist shining with superior grace. 

But this I mark — that symptoms none of woe 

In thy incomparable work appear. 
Well — I am satisfied it should be so, 

Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear ; 

For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see 
When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee 1 

October 1792, 



MARY AND JOHN. 

If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 
'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. 
Should John wed a score, oh, the claws and the scratches i 
It can't be a match — 'tis a bundle of matches. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 36] 



EPITAPH ON MR CHESTER, 

OF CHICHELBY. 

Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man b'es, 
Till all who knew him follow to the skies. 
Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep ; 
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants weep— 
And justly — fe^i shall ever him transcend 
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend . 
April 179a 



TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM, 

ON BSCSrVTNG FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE MADE BY HERSELF. 

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, 
When I was young, and thou no more 

Than plaything for a nurse, 
I danced and fondled on my knee, 
A kitten both in size and glee, 

I thank thee for my purse. 

Gold pays the worth of all things here; 
But not of love ; — that gem's too dear 

For richest rogue's to win it; 
I, therefore, as a proof of love, 
Esteem thy present far above 

The bsst things kept within it. 

May 4, 1793. 

INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN 
. This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, 
Built as it has been in our waning years. 
A rest afforded to our weary feet. 
Preliminary to — the last retreat.' 

May 179a 

TO MRS UNWIN. 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 
Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew, 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 

And undebased by praise of meaner things, 

That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 
I may record thy worth with honour due, 
In verse as musical as thou art true, 

And that immortalizes whom it sings. 

But thou hast little need. There is a book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 

On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 
A chronicle of actions just and bright ; 

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, 

And, since thcu own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 

Hay 1793. 



.62 COWPERS POEMS. 



TO JOHN JOHNSTON, ESQ., 

ON HLS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER. 

Kinsman beloved, and as a son , by me ! 
When I behold the fruit of thy regard, 
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, 

I reverence feel for him, and love for thee: 

Joy too and grief — much joy that there should be, 
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward 
With some applause my bold attempt and hard, 

Which others scorn ; critics by courtesy. 

The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine, 
I lose my precious years, now soon to fail, 

Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine, 
Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale. 

Be wiser thou — like our forefather Donne, 

Seek heavenly wealth, and work for Gfod alone. 

May 1793. 

TO A YOUNG FRIEND, * 

ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. 

If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found 
While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around, 
Might fitly represent the church, endow'd 
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow'd ; 
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, 
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry : 
Heaven grant us half the omen — may we see 
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee ! 

May 1793. 

OS A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD. 
A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, 

Well fed, and at his ease, 
Should wiser be than to pursue 

Each trifle that he sees. 
But you have kill'd a tiny bird, 

Which flew not till to-day, 
Against my orders, whom you heard 

Forbidding you the prey. 
Nor did you kill that you might eat 

A nd ease a doggish pain, 
For him, though chased with furious heat. 

Y ou left where he was slain. 
Nor was he of the thievish sort, 

Or one whom blood allures, 
But innocent was all his sport 

Whom you have torn for yours. 
My dog ! what remedy remains, 

Since teach you all I can, 
I see you, after all my pains, 

So much resemble man] 

July 15, 1793. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



BEAU'S REPLY. 

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird 

In spite of your command, 
A louder voice than yours I heard, 

And harder to withstand. 

You cried — Forbear ! — but in my breast 
A mightier cried — Proceed ! — 

'Twas nature, Sir, whose strong behest 
Impell'd me to the deed. 

Yet, much as nature I respect, ' 

I ventured once to break 
(As you perhaps may recollect) 

Her precept for your sake ; 

And when your linnet on a day, 

Passing his prison door, 
Had flutter'd all his strength away. 

And panting press'd the floor. 

Well knowing him a sacred thing. 

Not destined to my tooth, 
I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, 

And lick'd the feathers smooth. 

Let my obedience then excuse 

My disobedience now, 
Nor some reproof yourself refuse 

From your aggrieved bow-wow . 

If killing birds be such a crime 

(Which I can hardly see), 
What think you, Sir, of killing time 

With verse address'd to me ! 



INSCRIPTION 

FOR THE TOMB OF MR HAMILTON. 

Pause here and think : a monitory rhyme 
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. 

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein ; 
Seems it to say — " Health here has long to reign? * 
Hast thou the vigour of thy youth ] an eyo 
That beams delight] a heart untaught to sigh? 
Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease, 
Anticipates a day it never sees ; 
And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud 
Exclaims " Prepare thee for an early shroud * 



564 COWPEK'S POEMS. 



TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. 

Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, 
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, 
Than any built of stone or yet of wood, 

For hack of royal elephant to bear I 

for permission from the skies to share, 
Much to my own, though little to thy good, 
"With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!) 

A partnership of literary ware ! 

But I am bankrupt now ; and doom'd henceforth 
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays; 

Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled birth ! 
But what his commentator's happiest praise'! 

That he has furnished lights for other eyes, 
Which they who need them use, and then despise, 

June 29, 1793. 



ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. 
The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, 
Whom all this elegance might well seduce; 
Nor can our censure on the husband fall, 
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. 

September 17*93. 



TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA, 

TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN TiSSI 

My rose, Gfravina, blooms anew, 

And steep'd not now in rain, 
But in Castilian streams by you, 

Will never fade again. 

1793. 



EPITAPH ON A HARE. 
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, 

Nor swifter greyhound follow, 
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning clew, 

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo; 



Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, 
Who, nursed with tender care, 

And to domestic bounds confined, 
Was still a wild Jack hare. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 365 



Though duly from my hand he took 

His pittance every night, 
He did it with a jealous look, 

And, when he could, would bite. 

His diet was of wheaten bread 
And milk, and oats, and straw ; 

Thistles, or lettuces instead, 
With sand to scour his maw. 

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, 

On pippins' russet peel, 
And, when his juicy salads fail'd, 

Sliced carrot pleased him well . 

A Turkey carpet was his lawn, 

Whereon he loved to bound, 
To skip and gamble like a fawn, 

And swing his rump around. 

His frisking was at evening hours, 

For then he lost his fear, 
But most before approaching showers, 

Or when a storm drew near. 

Eight years and five round rolling moons 

He thus saw steal away, 
Dozing out all his idle noons, 

And every night at play. 

I kept him for his humour's sake, 

For he would oft beguile 
My heart of thoughts that made it ache, 

And force me to a smile. 

But now beneath this walnut shade 

He finds his long last home, 
And waits, in snug concealment laid, 

Till gentler Puss shall come. 

He, still more aged, feels the- shocks, 
From which no care can save, 

And, partner once of Tiney's box, 
Must soon partake his grave. 



THE BIRD'S NEST. 

A TALE * 

In Scotland's realms, where trees are few, 

Nor even shrubs abound ; 
But where, however bleak the view, 

Some better things are found ; 

* This tale is founded on an article which appeared in the Buckinghamshire 
Herald, Saturday, June 1, 1793 : — " Glasgow, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the 
head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest 
and four egg9. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed 
hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of 
the curious, the birds hare not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest 
liut seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food.' 



C0WPERS POEMS. 



For husband there and wife may boast 

There union undenled, 
And false ones are as rare almost 

As hedgerows in the wild — 

In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare 
The history chanced of late — 

The history of a wedded pair, 
A chaffinch and his mate. 

The spring drew near, each felt a breast 

With genial instinct fill'd : 
They pair'd, and would have built a nest, 

But found not where to build. 

The heaths uncover'd and the moors 

Except with snow and sleet, 
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores 

Could yield them no retreat. 

Long time a breeding-place they sought, 
Till both grew vex'd and tired ; 

At length a ship arriving brought 
The good so long desired. 

A ship ! — could such a restless thing 

Afford them place of rest '? 
Or was the merchant charged to bring 

The homeless birds a nest ] 

Hush — silent hearers profit most — 

This racer of the sea 
Proved kinder to them than the coast^ 

It served them with a tree. 

But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal, 

The tree they call a mast, 
And had a hollow with a wheel 

Through which the tackle pass'd. 

Within that cavity aloft 
Their roofless home they fix'd, 

Form'd with materials neat and soft. 
Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. 

Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor 
With russet specks bedight — 

The vessel weighs, forsakes the sbore, 
And lessens to the sight. 

The mother-bird is gone to sea, 
As she had changed her kind ; 

But goes the male ] Far wiser, he 
Is doubtless left behind. 

No — soon as from ashore he saw 

The winged mansion move, 
He flew to reach it, by a law 

Of never-failing love ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 361 



Then, perching at his consort's side, 
Was briskly borne along, 

The billows and the blast defied, 
And cheer 'd her with a song. 

The seaman with sincere delight 
His feather'd shipmates eyes, 

Scarce less exulting in the sight 
Than when he tows a prize. 

For seamen much believe in signs, 
And from a chance so new 

Each some approaching good divines. 
And may his hopes be true ! 

Hail, honour 'd land ! a desert where 
Not even birds can hide, 

Yet parent of this loving pair 
Whom nothing could divide. 

And ye who, rather than resign 

Your matrimonial plan, 
Were not afraid to plough the brine 

In company with man ; 

For whose lean country much disdain 

We English often show, 
Yet from a richer nothing gain 

But wantonness and woe — 

Be it your fortune, year by year 
The same resource to prove, 

And may ye, sometimes landing here, 
Instruct us how to love ! 

lunt 1793. 



TO MARY (MRS UN WIN). 

The twentieth year is well nigh past 

Since first our sky was overcast ; 

Ah ! would that this might be the last ! 

My Mary ! 

Thy spirits have a fainter flow 
I see thee daily weaker grow 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 

My Mary t 

Thy needles, once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore, 
Now rust disused, and shine no more ; 

My Mary! 

Vor, though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 

My Mary! 



cowper's poems. 



But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart, 

My Mary! 
Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter'd in a dream : 
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 

My Mary ! 
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 

My Mary ! 
For, could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see ] 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 

% Mary ! 
Partakers of thy sad decline, 
Thy hands their little force resign ; 
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine, 

My Mary ! 
Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, 
That now at every step thou movest 
Upheld by two ; yet still thou lovest, 

My Mary! 

And still to love, though press'd with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 

My Mary! 
But ah ! by constant heed I know, 
How offc the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 

My Mary ! 
And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 

My Mary! 

Autumn of 1793. 



THE CASTAWAY. 
Obscurest night involved the sky, 

The Atlantic billows roar'd, 
When such a destined wretch as I, 

Wash'd headlong from on board, 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 
Than he with whom he went, 

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
With warmer wishes sent. 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 

Nor him beheld, nor her again. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS S69 



Not long beneath the whelming brine, 

Expert to swim, he lay ; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 

Or courage die away : 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 

He shouted ; nor his friends had fail'd 
To check the vessel's course, 

But so the furious blast prevail'd, 
That, pitiless perforce, 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could afford ; 

And, such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delayed not to bestow : 
But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore* 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 
Their haste himself condemn, 

Aware that flight, in such a sea, 
Alone could rescue them ; 

Yet better felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self -upheld : 
And so long he, with unspent power, 

His destiny repell'd : 
And ever, as the minutes flew, 
Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu! " 

At length, his transient respite past, 

His comrades, who before 
Had heard his voice in every blast, 

Could catch the sound no more : 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his age* 

Is wet with Anson's tear ; 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date : 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 



2a 



570 



COWPERS POEMS. 



No voice divine the storm allay'd, 
No light propitious shone ; 

When, snatch 'd from all effectual aid, 
We perish 'd, each alone : 

But I beneath a rougher sea, 

And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 

March 20, 1799. 



TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 

Dear President, whose art sublime 
Gives perpetuity to time, 
And bids transactions of a day, 
That fleeting hours would waft away 
To dark futurity, survive, 
And in unfading beauty live, — 
You cannot with a grace decline 
A special mandate of the Nine — 
Yourself, whatever task you choose, 
So much indebted to the Muse. 

Thus say the sisterhood : — We come— 
Fix well your pallet on your thumb, 
Prepare the pencil and the tints — 
We come to furnish you with hints. 
French disappointment, British glory, 
Must be the subject of the story. 

First strike a curve, a graceful bow, 
Then slope it to a point below ; 
Your outline easy, airy, light, 
Fill'd up becomes a paper kite. 
Let independence, sanguine, horrid, 
Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : 
Beneath (but lay aside your graces) 
Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces, 
Each with a staring, stedfast eye, 
Fix'd on his great and good ally. 
France flies the kite — 'tis on the wing — 
Britannia's lightning cuts the string. 
The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, 
Just rends it into thirteen pieces, 
Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, 
And lays them all at George's feet. 

Iberia, trembling from afar, 
Renounces the confederate war. 
Her efforts and her arts o'er come, 
France calls her shatterM navies home, 
Repenting Holland learns to mourn 
The sacred treaties she has torn ; 
Astonishment and awe profound 
Are stamp'd upon the nations round : 
Without one friend, above all foes, 
Britannia gives the world repose. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 371 

ON THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS CX LITERATURE.* 

The Genius of the Augustan age 
His head among Rome's ruins rear'd, 
And, bursting with heroic rage, 
When literary Heron appear'd ; 
Thou hast, he cried, like him of old 
Who set the Ephesian dome on fire, 
By being scandalously bold, 
Attain'd the mark of thy desire. 
And for traducing Virgil's name 
Shalt share his merited reward; 
A perpetuity of fame, 
That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. 



THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS; 

OK, LABOUR IS' VAIN. 

A New Song, to a Tune never sung before. 
I sing of a journey to Clifton, + 

We would have performed, if we could ; 
Without cart or barrow, to lift on 
Poor Mary J and me through the mud, 
Slee, sla, slud, 
Stuck in the mud ; 
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood ! 

So away we went, slipping and sliding; 
Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs ; 
"lis, near as good walking as riding, 
When ladies are dressed in their clogs. 
Y> heels, no doubt, 
Go briskly about, 
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout. 

DIALOGUE 

SHE. 

" Well! now, I protest it is charming; 

How finely the weather improves ! 
That cloud, though 'tis rather alarming, 

How slowly and stately it moves." 

BE. 

" Pshaw ! never mind, 
'Tis not in the wind, 
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind." 

SHE. 

" I am glad we are come for an airing, 
For folks may be pounded, and penn'd, 

Until they grow rusty, not caring 
To stir half a mile "to an end." 

* Nominally by Robert Heron, Esq., but supposed to hare been written by John 
Pinkertcn. Svo. 1785. 

t A Tillage near Olney. I Mrs Unwin 



372 OOWPERS POEMS. 



" The longer we stay, 

The longer we may ; 

It's a folly to think about weather or way." 

8BB. 

" But now I "begin to be frighted, 

If I fall, what a way I should roll ! 
I am glad that the bridge was indicted, 

Stay ! stop ! I am sunk in a hole ! " 

HE. 

" Nay never care, 
'Tis a common affair ; 
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there. ' : 

SHE. 

u Let me breathe now a little, and ponder 

On what it were better to do ; 
That terrible lane I see yonder, 

I think we shall never get through." 

MB. 

" So think I :— 
But, by the bye, 
We never shall know, if we never should try. " 

SH25. 

" But should we get there, how shall we get home 
What a terrible deal of bad road we have past ' 
Slipping, and sliding, and if we should come 
To a difficult stile, I am ruin'd at last ! 
Oh this lane ! 
Now it is plain 
That struggling and striving is labour in vain." 

HE. 

w Stick fast there while I go and look ; " 

8HE. 

" Don't go away, for fear I should fall :" 

ITS. 

" I have examined it, every nook, 
And what you see here is a sample of all. 
Come, wheel round, 
The dirt we have found 
Would be an estate, at a farthing a pound." 

Now, sister Anne,* the guitar you must take, 

Set it, and sing it, and make it a song : 
I have varied the verse, for variety's sake, 
And cut it off short — because it was long. 
'Tis hobbling and lame, 
Which critics won't blame, 
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the sama, 

* lady Austen. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 372 

STANZAS 
Ml THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF MILTON * 

" Me too, perchance, in future days, 

The sculptured stone shall show, 
With Paphian myrtle or with bays 

Parnassian on my brow. 
u But I, or ere that season come. 

Escaped from every care, 
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb. 

And sleep securely there." 
So sang, in Roman tone and style, 

The youthful bard, ere long 
Ordain'd to grace his native isle 

With her sublimest song. 
Who then but must conceive disdain, 

Hearing the deed unblest 
Of wretches who have dared profano 

His dread sepulchral rest ] 

111 fare the hands that heaved the stones 

Where Milton's ashes lay, 
That trembled not to grasp his bones 

And steal his dust away ! 

ill requited bard ! neglect 
Thy living worth repaid, 

And blind idolatrous respect 
As much affronts thee dead. 

August 1790. 

TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 

June 22, 1782. 

My dear Friend, 

If reading verse be your delight, 
'Tis mine as much, or more, to write ; 
But what we would, so weak is man, 
Lies oft; remote from what we can. 
For instance, at this very time 

1 feel a wish by cheerful rhyme 

To soothe my friend, and, had I powei*, 
To cheat him of an anxious hour ; 
Not meaning (for I must confess, 
It were but folly to suppress) 
His pleasure, or his good alone, 
But squinting partly at my own . 
But though the sun is flaming high 
In the centre of yon arch, the sky, 
And he had once (and who but he :) 
The name for setting genius free, 
Yet whether poets of past days 
Yielded him undeserved praise. 
And he by no uncommon lot 
Was famed for virtues he had not ; 

• The bones of Milton, who lies buried in Cripplegate Church, were disinterre I in 
the j ear 1790. 



374 COWPERS POEMS. 



Or whether, which is like enough, 
His Highness may have taken huff, 
So seldom sought with invocation, 
Since it has been the reigning fashion 
To disregard his inspiration, 
I seem no brighter in my wits, 
For all the radiance he emits, 
Than if I saw through midnight vapour, 
The glimmering of a farthing taper. 
Oh for a succedaneum, then, 
To accelerate a creeping pen ! 
Oh for a ready succedaneum, 
Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium 
Pondere liberet exoso, 
Et morbo jam caliginoso ! 
'Tis here ; this oval box well fill'd 
With best tobacco, finely mill'd,, 
Beats all Anticyra's pretences 
To disengage the encumber'd senses. 
Oh Nymph of transatlantic fame, 
Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name, 
Whether reposing on the side 
Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide, 
Or listening with delight not small 
To Niagara's distant fall, 
'Tis thine to cherish and to feed 
The pungent nose-refreshing weed 
Which, whether pulverized it gain 
A speedy passage to the brain, 
Or whether, touch'd with fire, it rise 
In circling eddies to the skies, 
Does thought more quicken and refine 
Than all the breath of all the Nine — 
Forgive the bard, if bard he be, 
Who once too wantonly made free, 
To touch Avith a satiric wipe 
That symbol of thy power, the pipe ; 
So may no blight infest thy plains 
And no unseasonable rains ; 
And so may smiling peace once more 
Visit America's sad shore ; 
And thou, secure from all alarms, 
Of thundering drums and glittering arma ; 
Rove unconfined beneath the shade 
Thy wide expanded leaves have made ; 
So may thy votaries increase, 
And fumigation never cease. 
May Newton with renew'd delights 
Perform thine odoriferous rites, 
While clouds of incense half divine 
Involve thy disappearing shrine ; 
And so may smoke-inhaling Bull 
Be always filling, never full. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 37fi 

EPITAPH ON MRS M. HIGGENS, 

OF WESTON. 

Laurels may flourish round the conqueror's tomb, 
But happiest they who win the world to come : 
Believers have a silent field to fight, 
And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. 
They in some nook, where little known they dwell, 
Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell ; 
Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine, 
And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine. 

1791. 



SONNET TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 

Deem not, sweet rose, thatbloom/st' midst many a thorn, 

Thy friend, though to a cloister's shade consign'd, 

Can e'er forget the charms he left behind, 

Or pass unheeded this auspicious morn ! 

In happier days to brighter prospects born, 

tell thy thoughtless sex, the virtuous mind, 

Like thee, content in every state may find, 

And look on Folly's pageantry with scorn. 

To steer with nicest art betwixt th' extreme 

Of idle mirth, and affectation coy; 

To blend good sense with elegance and ease ; 

To bid Affliction's eye no longer stream ; 

Is thine; best gift, the unfailing source of joy, 

The guide to pleasures which can never cease ! 



ON A MISTAKE IN HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMER 
Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse, 

If, bound in rhyming tethers, 
He had committed this abuse 

Of changing ewes for wethers ; * 
But, male for female is a trope, 

Or rather bold misnomer, 
That would have startled even Pope, 

"When he translated Homer. 



ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM 
SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR 1789. 

sovereign of an isle renown'd 

For undisputed sway, 
Wherever o'er yon gulf profound 

Her navies wing their way, 

* I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. It was a blunder 
hardly pardonable in a man who has liye« amid fields and meadows grazed by sheep 
almost these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two stanzas which I 
Composed last night, while I lay awake, tormented with pain, and weU dosed with laud- 
anum. If you find them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account 
for it —Letter to Joseph Hill, Esq., dated April 15, 1792. 



S76 cowper/s poems. 



With juster claims she builds at length 

Her empire on the sea, 
And well may boast the waves her strength, 

Which strength restored to thee. 



ADDRESSED TO MTSS 

ON READING THE FItAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE, AN ODE, BY MRS GBEVILI I 

And dwells there in a female heart, 

By bounteous Heaven design'd, 
The choicest raptures to impart, 

To feel the most refined — 

Dwells there a wish in such a breast 

Its nature to forego, 
To smother in ignoble rest 

At once both bliss and woe ! 

Far be the thought, and far the strain, 

Which breathes the low desire, 
How sweet soe'er the verse complain, 

Though Phoebus string the lyre. 

Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise), 

Who, knowing them, can tell 
From generous sympathy what joys 

The glowing bosom swell : 

In justice to the various powers 

Of pleasing, which you share, 
Join me, amid your silent hours, 

To form the better prayer. 

With lenient balm may Oberon hence 

To fairy-land be driven, 
With every herb that blunts the sense 

Mankind received from heaven. 

" Oh ! if my sovereign Author please, 

Far be it from my fate 
To live unblest in torpid ease, 

And slumber on in state ; 

" Each tender tie of life defied, 

Whence social pleasures- spring, 
Unmoved with all the world beside, 

A solitary thing — " 

Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow. 

Thus braves the whirling blast, 
Eternal winter doom'd to know, 

No genial spring to taste. 

In vain warm suns their influence shed, 

The zephyrs sport in vain, 
He rears unchanged his barren head, 

Whilst beauty decks the plain . 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 377 

What though, in scaly armour dress'd, 

Indifference may repel 
The shafts of woe — in such a breast 

No joy can ever dwell. 

'Tis woven in the world's great plan, 

And'fix'd by Heaven's decree, 
That all the true delights of man 

Should spring from sympathy. 

Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws 

Of nature we retain, 
Our self-approving bosom draws 

A pleasure from its pain. 

Thus grief itself has comforts dear 

The sordid never know ; 
And ecstacy attends the tear 

"When virtue bids it flow. 

For, when it streams from that pure source, 

No bribes the heart can win 
To check, or alter from its course, 

The luxury within. 

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves, 

"Who, if from labour eased, 
Extend no care beyond themselves, 

Unpleasing and impleaded. 

Let no low thought suggest the prayer, 

Oh ! grant, kind Heaven, to me, 
Long as I draw ethereal air, 

Sweet Sensibility ! 

Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen, 

With lustre-beaming eye, 
A train, attendant on their queen, 

(Her rosy chorus) fly ; 

The jocund loves in Hymen's band, 

With torches ever bright, 
And generous friendship, hand in hand 

With pity's wat'ry sight. 

The gentler virtues too are join'd 

In youth immortal warm ; 
The soft relations, which, combined, 

Gfive life her every charm. 

The arts come smiling in the close, 

And lend celestial fire ; 
The marble breathes, the canvas glows^ 

The muses sweep the lyre. 

" Still may my melting bosom cleave 

To sufferings not my own, 
And still the sigh responsive heave 

Where'er is heard a groan. 



376 C0WPER S POEMS. 



" So pity shall take virtue's part, 

Her natural ally, 
And fashioning my soffcen'd heart, 

Prepare it for the sky." 

This artless vow may heaven receive, 
And you, fond maid, approve : 

So may your guiding angel give 
Whate'er you wish or love ! 

So may the rosy-finger'd hours 

Lead on the various year, 
And every joy, which now is yours, 

Extend a larger sphere ! 

And suns to come, as round they wheel, 
Your golden moments bless 

With all a tender heart can feel, 
Or lively fancy guess ! 

1762. 



FROM 

A LETTER TO THE REV. MR NEWTON, 

LATE RECTOR OF ST MART WOOLNOTH. 

Says the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't understand 
What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face, 

That you are in fashion all over the land, 
And I am so much fallen into disgrace. 

Do but see what a pretty contemplative air 
I give to the company — pray do but note 'em — 

You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there, 
Or at least would suppose them the wise men of Gfotham. 

My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, 
While you are a nuisance where'er you appear ; 

There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses, 
Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. 

Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way, 

And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging, 
The box in reply was heard plainly to say, 

What a silly dispute is this we are waging ! 

If you have a little of merit to claim, 

You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed, 
And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, 

The before-mention'd drug in apology plead. 

Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, 
No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, 

We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, 
But of anything else they may choose to put in us. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 379 



THE FLATTING MILL. 

AN ILLUSTRATION. 



When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold 
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length, 
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd 
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. 

Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears 
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show, 
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears, 
And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow. 

This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain 
The thump after thump of a gold-beater's mallet, 
And at last is of service in sickness or pain 
To cover a pill for a delicate palate. 

Alas for the poet ! who dares undertake 

To urge reformation of national ill — 

His head and his heart are both likely to ache 

With the double employment of mallet and mill. 

If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight, 
Smooth, ductile, and even his fancy must flow, 
Must tinkle and glitter, like gold to the sight, 
And catch in its progress a sensible glow. 

After all he must beat it as thin and as fine 
As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows ; 
For truth is unwelcome, however divine, 
And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. 



EPITAPH ON A FREE BUT TAMF REDBREAST, 

A FAVOURITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS. 

These are not dewdrops, these are tears, 

And tears by Sally shed 
For absent Robin, who she fears, 

With too much cause, is dead. 

One morn he came not to her hand 

As he was wont to come, 
And, on her finger perch'd, to stand 

Picking his breakfast-crumb. 

Alann'd, she call'd him, and perplex'd, 

She sought him, but in vain — 
That day he came not, nor the next, 

Nor ever came again. 

She therefore raised him here a tomb, 

Though where he fell, or how, 
None knows — so secret was his doom, 

Nor where he moulders now. 



330 COWPERS POEMS. 



Had half a score of coxcombs died 

In social Robin's stead, 
Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, 

Or haply never shed. 

But Bob was neither rudely bold 

For spiritlessly tame; 
Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, 

But always in a flame. 

March 1792. 



SONNET, 

ADBSESSED TO WILLIAM HATLEY, ESQ. 

Hayley — thy tenderness fraternal shown 
In our first interview, delightful guest ! 
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distressM, 

Such as it is, has made my heart thy own, 

Though heedless now of new engagements grown ; 
For threescore winters make a wintry breast, 
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest 

Of friendship more, except with Grod alone. 
But thou hast won me ; nor is Gfod my foe, 

Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, 
Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, 
My brother, by whose sympathy I know 

Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, 

Not more to admire the bard than love the man. 

June 2, 1795. 



AN EPITAPH. 

Here lies one who never drew 
Blood himself, yet many slew ; 
Grave the gun its aim, and figure 
Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger. 
Armed men have gladly made 
Him their guide, and him obey'd; 
At his signified desire 
"Would advance, present, and fire — 
Stout he was, and large of limb, 
Scores have fled at sight of him! 
And to all this fame he rose " 
Only following his nose. 
Neptune was he call'd, not he 
Who controls the boisterous sea, 
But of happier command, 
Neptune of the furrow 'd land; 
And, your wonder vain to shorten, 
Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. 

1792. 



MISJELLANE0US POEMS. Z&\ 



ON RECEIVING HAYLEV'S PICTURE. 
In language warm as could be breathed or penn'd 
Thy picture speaks 'the original, my friend, 
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind — 
They only speak thee friend of all mankind; 
Expression here more soothing still I see, 
That friend of all a partial friend to me. 

January 1793. 



CI! A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER. 

DESIGNED TO COVEE A GAKDEN-SEAT. 

Thrive, gentle plant! and weave a bower 

For Mary and for me, 
And deck with many a splendid flower, 

Thy foliage large and free. 

Thou earnest from Eartharn, and wilt shade 

(If truly I divine) 
Some future day the Illustrious head 

Of him who made thee mine. 

Should Daphne show a jealous frown, 

And envy seize the bay, 
Affirming none so fit to crown 

Such honour'd brows as they, 

Thy cause with zeal we shall defend, 

And with convincing power ; 
For why should not the virgin's friend 

Be crown'd with virgin's bower ] 

Spring of 1793. 



ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIItGIL 

FROM MR HATLEY. 

I should have deem'd it once an effort vain 
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain, 
But from that error now behold me free, 
Since I received him as a gift from thee. 



LINES OK A SLEEPING INFANT. 

Sweet babe I whose image here express'd 
Does thy peaceful slumbers show ; 

Guilt or fear, to break thy rest, 
Never did thy spirit know. 

Soothing slumbers ! soft repose, 
Such as mock the painter's skill, 

Such as innocence bestows, 

Harmless infant! lull thee still. 



382 cowper's poems. 



STANZAS 

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKE^TH, BY A LADY, 

In returning a Poem of Mr Cowper's, lent to the "Writer, on condition 
she should neither show it nor take a copy. 

What wonder ! if my wavering hand 

Had dared to disobey, 
When Hesketh gave a harsh command, 

And Cowper led astray. 

Then take this tempting gift of thsne, 

By pen uncopied yet ! 
But canst thou Memory confine, 

Or teach me'to forget? 

More lasting than the touch of art, 

Her characters remain ; 
When written by a feeling heart 

On tablets of the brain. 

COWPER'S REPLY. 

To be remember'd thus is fame, 

And in the first degree ; 
And did the few, like her, the same, 

The press might rest for me. 

So Homer, in the mem 'ry stored 

Of many a Grecian belle, 
Was once preserved — a richer hoard, 

But never lodged so well. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER 

William was once a bashful youth, 

His modesty was such, 
That one might say, to say the truth, 

He rather had too much. 

Some said that it was want of sense, 

And others, want of spirit 
(So blest a thing is impudence). 

While others could not bear it. 

But some a different notion had, 

And, at each other winking, 
Observed that though he little said. 

He paid it off with thinking. 

. Howe'er, it happen'd, by degrees, 

He mended, and grew perter, 
In company was more at ease, 
And dress'd a little smarter ; 

Nay, now and then, could look quite gay, 

As other people do ; 
And sometimes said, or tried to say, 

A witty thing or so. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 388 



He eyed the women, and made free 

To comment on tlieir shapes, 
So that there was, or seem'd to be. 

No fear of a relapse. 

The women said, who thought him rough, 

But now no longer foolish, 
" The creature may do well enough, 

But wants a deal of polish." 

At length improved from head to heel, 

'Twere scarce too much to say, 
No dancing beau was so genteel 

Or half so deyage. 

Now that a miracle so strange 

May not in vain be shown, 
Let the dear maid who wrought the change 

E'en claim him for her own! 



TO THE SAME. 



How quick the change from joy to woe, 
How chequer'd is our lot below ! 
Seldom we view the prospect fair ; 
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care 
(Some pleasing intervals between), 
Scowl over more than half the scene. 
Last week with Delia, gentle maid! 
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd. 
Five suns successive rose and set, 
And saw no monarch in his state, 
Wrapt in the blaze of majesty, 
So free from every care as I. 
Next day the scene was overcast — 
Such day till then I never pass'd, — 
For on that day, relentless fate ! 
Delia and I must separate. 
Yet ere we look'd our last farewell, 
From her dear lips this comfort fell, — 
* Fear not that time, where'er we rove, 
Dr absence, shall abate my love." 



LINES. 



Uh ! to some distant scene, a willing exile 

From the wild roar of this busy world, 

Were it my fate with Delia to retire, 

With her to wander through the sylvan shade, 

Each mom, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf, 

Where, blest as the prime parents of mankind 

In their own Eden, we would envy none, 

But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy, 

Gently spin out the silken thread of life I 



384 COWPEll'S POEMS. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A MOSS-HOUSE IN THE SHRUBBERY 
AT WESTON. 

Heke, free from riot's hated noise, 
Be mine, ye calmer, purer joys, 

A book or friend bestows ; 
Far from the storms that shake the great, 
Contentment's gale shall fan my seat, 

And sweeten my repose. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSEL. 

Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to waste 
The present moments, and regret the past ; 
Deprived of every joy I valued most, 
My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost ; 
Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, 
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen ! 
Still, still I mourn, with each returning day, 
Him * snatch'd by fate in early youth away ; 
And her — thro' tedious years of doubt and pain, 
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful — but in vain ! 
O prone to pity, generous, and sincere, 
"Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear ; 
"Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows ; 
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; 
See me — ere yet my destined course half done, 
Cast forth a wand'rer on a world unknown ! 
See me neglected on the world's rude coast, 
Each dear companion of my voyage lost ! 
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, 
And ready tears wait only leave to flow ! 
Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free, 
All that delights the happy — palls with me ! 



EXTRACT FROM A SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN. 

Heae, Lord, the song of praise and prayer, 

In heaven thy dwelling-place, 
From infants, made the public care, 

And taught to seek thy face ! 

Thanks for thy Word, and for thy day, 

And grant us, we implore, 
Never to waste in sinful play 

Thy holy Sabbaths more. 

Thanks that we hear — but, oh ! impart 

To each desires sincere, 
That we may listen with our heart, 

And learn as well as hear. 

* Sir William Bussel, the favourite friend of the young poet. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 388 



TO MRS NEWTON. 

A noble theme demands a noble verse, 

In such I thank you for your fine oysters. 

The barrel was magnificently large, 

But, being sent to Olney at free charge, 

Was not inserted in the driver's list, 

And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd; 

For, when the messenger whom we despatch'd 

Inquired for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch'd ; 

Denying that his waggon or his wain 

Did any such commodity contain. 

In consequence of which, your welcome boon 

Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 

In consequence of which some chanced to die, 

And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 

Now Madam says (and what she says must still 

Deserve attention, say she what she will), 

That what we call the diligence, be-case 

It goes to London with a swifter pace, 

Would better suit the carriage of your gift, 

Returning downward with a pace as swift ; 

And therefore recommends it with this aim — 

To save at least three days, — the price the same ; 

For though it will not carry or convey 

For less than twelve pence, send whate'er you may. 

For oysters bred upon the salt sea-shore, 

Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more. 

News have I none that I can deign to write, 
Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, 
Caught in the first beginning of the shower ; 
But walking, running, and with much ado, 
Grot home — just time enough to be wet through, 
Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told, 
Soused aswe were, we yet have caught no cold ; 
And wishing just the same good hap to you, 
We say, good Madam, and good Sir, adieu ! 



VERSES PRINTED BY HIMSELF, ON A FLOOD 
AT OLNEY. 

To watch the storms, and hear the sky 
Give all our almanacks the lie ; 
To shake with cold, and see the plains 
In autumn drown'd with wintry rains ; 
'Tis thus I spend my moments here, 
And wish myself a Dutch mynheer; 
I then should have no need of wit: 
For lumpish Hollander unfit ! 
Nor should I then repine at mud, 
Or meadows deluged with a flood ; 



2b 



886 C0WPER S POEMS. 



But in a hog live well content, 
And find it just my element; 
Should be a clod, and not a man; 
Nor wish in vain for sister Ann, 
With charitable aid to drag 
My mind out of its proper quag; 
Should have the genius of a boor, 
And no ambition to have more. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF A HAMPER. 
(in the manner of homek.) 

The straw-staff'd hamper with his ruthless steel 
He opened, cutting sheer th' inserted cords 
Which bound the lid and lip secure. Forth came 
The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat, 
Or oats, or barley ; next a bottle green 
Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'd 
Drop after drop odorous, by the art 
Of the fair mother of his friend — the Rose. 



ON THE NEGLECT OF HOMER. 

Could Homer come himself, distress'd and poor, 
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door, 
The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear), 
a Begone ! no tramper gets a farthing here." 



ON THE HIGH PRICE OF FISH, 

Cocoa-nut naught, 
Fish too dear, 
None must be bought 
For us that are here : 

No lobster on earth, 
That ever I saw, 
To me would be worth 
Sixpence a claw. 

So, dear madam, wait 
Till fish can be got 
At a reas'nable rate, 
Whether lobster or not ; 

Till the French and the Dutok 
Have quitted the seas, 
And then send as much 
And as oft as you please. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 381 

ON THE ICE ISLANDS SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN 
OCEAN. 

"What portents, from what distant region, ride, 

Unseen till now in ours, the astonish 'd tide ] 

In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves 

Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves. 

But now, descending whence of late they stood., 

Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood. 

Dire times were they, full charged with human woes ; 

And these, scarce less calamitous than those. 

"What view we now ] More wondrous still ! Behold ! 

Like hurnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold ; 

And all around the pearl's pure splendour show, 

And all around the ruby's fiery glow. 

Come they from India, where the burning earth, 

All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; 

And where the costly gems, that beam around 

The brows of mightiest potentates, are found ] 

No. Never such a countless dazzling store 

Had left unseen the Ganges' peopled shore. 

Rapacious hands, and ever watchful eyes, 

Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize. 

Whence sprang they then ] Ejected have they come 

From Vesuvius', or from iEtna's burning womb ] 

Thus shine they self -illumed, or but display 

The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day ] 

With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that breathe 

Now landward, and the current's force beneath, 

Have borne them nearer : and the nearer sight, 

Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. 

Their lofty summits creste dhigh they show, 

With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow. 

The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, 

Bleak winter well nigh saddens all the year, 

Their infant growth began. He bade arise 

Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. 

Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow 

Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below ; 

He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast 

The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. 

By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile, 

And long successive ages roll'd the while ; 

Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand 

Tall as its rival mountains on the land. 

Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill 

Or force of man, had stood the structure still, 

But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet 

By pressure of its own enormous weight, 

It left the shelving beach — and, with a sound 

That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, 

Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave, 

As if instinct with strong desire to lave, 



S88 COWPER's POEMS. 



Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old 

How Delos swam the iEgean deep have told. 

But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore 

Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel, wore, 

E'en under wintry skies, a summer smile ; 

And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle. 

But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you 

He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. 

Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey, 

But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away. 

Hence, seek your home, nor longer rashly dare 

The darts of Phoebus and a softer air ; 

Lest ye regret, too late, -your native coast, 

In no congenial gulf for ever lost ! 

March 19, 1799. 



VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DK LLOYD. 

SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION NEXT AFTER 
HIS DECEASE. 

Our good old friend is gone ; gone to his rest, 
Whose social converse was itself a feast. 
ye of riper years, who recollect 
How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect, 
Both in the firmness of his better day, 
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, 
And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest, 
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest, 
He took his annual seat, and mingled here 
His sprightly vein with yours — now drop a tear ! 
In morals blameless, as in manners meek, 
He knew no wish that he might blush to speak, 
But, happy in whatever state below, 
And richer than the rich in being so, 
Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed 
At length from one * as made him rich indeed. 
Hence then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here ! 
Gfo ! garnish merit in a higher sphere, 
The brows of those, whose more exalted lot 
He could congratulate, but envied not ! 
Light lie the turf, good senior, on thy breast ; 
And tranquil, as thy mind was, be thy rest. 
Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, 
And not a stone now chronicles thy name I 



THE POPLAR FIELD. 

The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade, 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

* He was usher and under-master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired fron* 
bis occupation whr>n ho was near seventy, with a handsome pension from the king. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Twelve years had elapsed since I last took a view 
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew ; 
And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
And the tree is rny seat that once lent me a shade. 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, 
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away, 

And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 

With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, 

Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, 
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, 
Have a being less durable even than he.* 



THE LILY AND THE ROSE. 

The nymph must lose her female friend, 
If more admired than she — 

But where will fierce contention end, 
If flowers can disagree ] 

Within the garden's peaceful scene 

Appear'd two lovely foes, 
Aspiring to the rank of queen, 

The Lily and the Rose. 

The Rose soon redden'd into rage, 

And, swelling with disdain, 
Appeal'd to many a poet's page 

To prove her right to reign. 

The Lily's height bespoke command, 

A fair imperial flower ; 
She seem'd design'd for Flora's han<2? 

The sceptre of her power. 

This civil bickering and debate 
The goddess chanced to hear, 

And flew to save, ere yet too late, 
The pride of the parterre. 

if ours is, she said, the nobler hue, 
And yours the statelier mien ; 

And, till a third surpasses you, 
Let each be deem'd a queen. 

* l&wper atterwards altered this last stanza in the following manns? t 
The change both my heart and my fancy emploja, 
I reflect on the frailty of man, and his joys: 
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 



390 cowper's poems. 

Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks 

The fairest British fair ; 
The seat of empire is her cheeks, 

They reign united there. 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED. 

To the March in Scipio. 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more ; 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore ! 

Sight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel, 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought ; 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock j 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock. 

His sword was in its sheatii ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred mza. 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 

The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again, 
Full charged with England's thuadeTa 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 

His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the wave no more. 

Sept. 1782. 



LATIN POEMS. 



MONTES GLACIALES, IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES. 
(English yereion, page 387.) 

En, quae prodigia, ex oris allata rernotis ! 

Oras adYeniiint pavefacta per sequora nostras ! 

Non equidem priscse saeclum rediisse videtur 

Pyrrhse, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes 

Et sylvas, egit. Sed fcenrpora vix leviora 

Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti 

In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. 

Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu ] 

Splendentes video, ceu pulehro ex sere vel auro 

Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique geinmis, 

Bacca cserulea, et flam mas imitante pyropo. 

Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus 

Parturit omnigenas, quibus aeva per omnia sumptu 

Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges ] 

Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos 

Mercatorum oculos : prius et quam littora Grangis 

Liquksent, avidis gratissima prseda fuissent. 

Ortos unde putemus ] An illos Ves'vius atrox 

Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus iEtna 1 

Luce micant propria, Phcebive, per aera purum 

Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent 1 

Phcebi luce micant. Yentis et Auctions altis 

Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, 

Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est 

Multa onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. 

Caetera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma fere omnes 

Contristat menses, portenta haec horrida nobis 

Ilia strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo 

Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutse 

Sole, nives, propero t riidentes in mare cursu, 

Ilia gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese 

Mirum ccepit opus ; glacieque ab origine rerum 

In glaciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem 

iEquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. 

Sic immensa diu stetit, seternumque stetisset 

Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, 

Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, 

Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum 



COWPER S P0E31S. 



Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, 
Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi, 
Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, 
Insula, in Mgvso fluitasse erratica ponto. 
Sed non ex glacie Delos ; neque torpida Delum 
Bruma inter rapes genuit nudum sterilemque. 
Sed vestita herbis erat ilia, ornataque nnnquam 
Decidua lauro ; et Delum dilexit Apollo. 
At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni 
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, 
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri 
Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite coelum ! 
Ite! Redite! Timete moras; ni leniter austro 
Spirante, et nitidas Phoeho jaculante sagittas 
Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti! 

March II, 1799. 



MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WILLIAM NORTHCOT. 

Hie sepultus est 
Inter suorum lacrymas 

GrULIELMUS NORTHCOT, 
GrULIELMI ET MARI^J filiuS 

Unicus, unice dilectus, 

Qui floris ritu succisus est semihiantis, 

Aprilis die septimo, 

1780. Mi. 10. 

Care, vale! Sed non ssternum, care, valeto! 

Namque iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. 
Turn nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros, 

Nee tu marcesces, nee lacrymabor ego. 



TRANSLATION. 

Farewell! " But not for ever/' Hope replies, 
Trace but bis steps and meet him in the skies! 
There nothing shall renew our parting pain, 
Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again 



IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, 

CORRUPTEL1S OALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONBm NUPER EXORTAM, 

Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, 

Non armis, laurum Grallia fraude petit. 
Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit 

Undique privatas patriciasque domes. 
Nequicquam conata sua, fcedissima sperat 

Posse tamen nostra nos superare manu. 
Gfallia, vana struis! Precibus nunc utere! Vinces, 

Nam mites timidis, supplieibusque SHimus. 



LATI3 POEMS. 391 



TRANSLATION. 

False, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart, 
France quits the warrior's for the assassin's part, 
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys, 
Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze. 
Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone. 
She hires the worst and basest of our own. 
Kneel, France ! a suppliant conquers us with ease, 
We always spare a coward on Ms knees. 



MOTTO ON A CLOCK. 

Qile lenta accedit, quam velox praeterit hora ! 
Til capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil! 



A SIMILE LATINIZED. 

Sors adversa gerit stimulum, sed tendit et alas: 
Pungit api similis, sed velut ista fugit. 



VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR LLOYD. 
(EngUsh version, p. 388.) 

Abut senex. Periit senex amabilis, 

Quo non fuit jucundior. 
Lugete vos, setas quibus maturior 

Senem colendum prsestitit; 
Seu quando, viribus valentioribus 

Firmoque fretus pectore, 
Florentiori vos juventute excolens 

Cur& fovebat patria ; 
Seu quando, fractus, jamque donatus rud© 

V ultu sed usque blandulo, 
Miscere gaudebat suas facetias 

His annuis leporibus. 
Vixit probus, puraque simplex indole, 

Blandisque comis moribus, 
Et dives sequa mente, charus omnibus, 

Urdus auctus munere. 
Ite, tituli! Meritis beatioribus 

Aptate laudes debitas! 
Nee invidebat ille, si quibus favens 

Fortuna plus arriserat. 
Placide senex, levi quiescas cespite, 

Etsi superbum nee vivo tibi 
Decus sit inditum, nee mortuo 

Lapis notatus nomine! 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



POPULETUM. 

(English version, p. 388.) 

Popule^j cecidit gratissima copia silvae, 
Conticuere susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra. 
Nullae jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurse, 
Et nulla in fluvio ramsrum ludit imago. 

Hei mini! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos, 
His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu, 
Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramme cernene 
Insedi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam. 

All ubi nunc merulse cantus 1 Felieior ilium 
Silva tegit, durse nondum permissa bipenni ; 
Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes 
Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit. 

Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse, 
Et prius huic parilis, quam creverit altera silva,, 
Flebor, et, exequiis parvis donatus, babebo 
Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum 

Tarn subitd periisse videns tarn digna manere 
Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata — 
Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbru&J 
Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas. 



ULIUM ATQUE ROSA* 

(English version, p. 389.) 

Heu inimicitias quoties parit semula forma, 
Quam raro pulchrse pulchra placere potest ! 

Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit, 
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent. 

Hortus ubi dulces prsebet tacitosque recessus. 

Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas ; 
Hie sibi regales Amaryllis Candida cultus, 

Illic purpureo vindicat ore Eosa. 

Ira Eosam et meritis quaesita superbia tangunfc, 
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu, 

Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum, 
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. 

Altior emicat ilia, et celso vertice nutat, 
Ceu flores inter non habitura par em, 

Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in us us 
Imperii, sceptrum, Flo* a quod ipsa gemfc. 

Nee Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixse, 
Cui curse est pictas pandere ruris opes. 

Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri 
Dum, licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest. 



LATIN POEilS. 396 



Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit, 
Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color, 

Et donee vincat quasdaia fcrmosior, arabas, 
Et tibi reginse nomen, et esto tibi. 

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympbam, 
Qualern inter Veneres Anglia sola parit ; 

Hanc penes imperitim est, nihil cptant amplius, huj ua 
Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis. 



IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEOEGIUS REGALE 
NOMEN IXDITU1I. 
(English Tersion, p. 390.) 

Plakgimus fortes. Periere fortes, 
Patrinm propter periere littus 
Bis quater centum ; subito sub alto 
iEquore mersi. 

Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat, 
Malus ad summas trepidabat undas, 
Cum levis, fanes quatiens, ad imum 
Depulit aura. 

Plangimus fortes. Nimis, Leu, cadcicam 
Fortibus vitam voluere parcas, 
Nee sinunt ultra tibi nos recentes 
Nectere laurus, 

Magne, qui nomen, licet incanoram, 
Traolitum ex multis atavis tulisti ! 
At tuos olini memorabit amna 
Oione triumpiios. 

Non byems illos furibunda mersit, 
Kon mari in clauso scopuli latentes, 
Fissa non rinds abies, nee atrox 
Abstulit ensis. 

N avitae sed turn mmium jocosi 
Voce fallebant hilari laborem, 
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im- 
pleverat lieros. 

Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumqu% 
Humidum ex alto spolium levate, 
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos 
Reddite amicisl 

Hi quidem (sic dis placuit) fnere : 
Sed ratis, nondum putris, ire possit 
Rursus in bellum. Britonumque nomsn 
Toller€i ad astra. 



S96 



COWPER 3 POESIS. 



VOTUM. 

matutini rores, aurseque salubres- 
nemora, et laetae rivis felicibus herbae, 
Graminei colles, et amcense in vallibus umbras ! 
Fata modd dederint quas olim in rare paterno 
Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi, 
Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper avebat? 
Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam. 
Turn demum, exactis non infeliciter annis, 
Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub cespite condil 



EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. 

Hio etiam jacefc, 

Qui totum novennium vixit, 

Puss : 

Siste paulisper, 

Qui praeteriturus es, 

Et tecum sic reputa — 

Hunc neque canis venaticm 

Nee plumbum missile. 

Nee laqueus, 

Nee imbres nimii, 

Confecere: 

Tamen mortuus eek- 

Et xnoriar ego« 



LATIN TRANSLATIONS. 



SIMILE IN PARADISE LOST. 

"So when, from mountain tops, the dusiy clouds 
Ascending," &a 

Quales aerii montis de vertice Dubes 

Cum sur<*unt, et jam Boreas tumida ora quierunt, 

Coelum hilares abdit, spiss^ caligine, vultus: 

Turn, si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, 

Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat, 

Graudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros 

Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant. 



TRANSLATION OF DRYDENS EPIGRAM ON MILTON 

Tres tria, sed longe distantia, saacula vates 

Ostentant tribus e gentibus eximios. 
Graecia sublimem, cum maj estate disertum 

Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem. 
Partubus ex binis Natura exhausta, coacta est, 

Tertius ut fieret, consociare duos. . 

July 1780. 



TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. 

Mehcator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possifc, 
Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes ; 

Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia cbordis, 
Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe. 

Ad speculum ornabat nitidis Euphelia crines, 
Cum dixit, mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram . 

Namque lyram juxt4 positam cum carmine vidit, 
Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. 

Fila lyrse vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, 
Et miscent numeris murmura mcesta meis, 

Dumque tuae memoro laudes, Euphelia, formse, 
Tota anima interea" pendet ab ore Chides. 

Subrubet ilia pudore, et contrahit altera front em. 
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo ; 

Ataue Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta coron&, 
Bev ! falleridi artem quam didicere parum. 



598 COWPER'S POEMS. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY. 



LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS. 

Lusus amicitia est, uni nisi dedita, ceu fit, 

Simplice ni nexus fcedere, lusus amor. 
Incerto genitore puer, non saepe paternse 

Tutamen novit, deliciasque domus: 
Quique sibi fidos fore nmltos sperat, amicus 

Mirum est huic misero si ferat ullus opem. 
Comis erat, mitisque, -et nolle et velle paratus 

Cum quovis, Graii more modoque, Lepus. 
Ille, quot in sylvis et quot spatiantur in agris 

Quadrupedes, norat conciliare sibi; 
Et quisque innocuo, invitoque lacessere quenquam 

Labra tenus saltern fidus amicus erat. 
Ortum sub lucis dum pressa cubilia linquit, 

Rorantes herbas, pabula sueta, petens, 
Venatorum audit clangores pone sequentem, 

Fulmineumque sonum territus erro fagit. 
Oorda pavor pulsat, sursum sedet, erigit aures, 

Respicit, et sentit jam prope adesse necem. 
Utque canes fallat late circumvagus, llluc, 

Unde abiit, niira calliditate redit ; 
Virions at fractis tandem se projicit ultro 

In medi& miserum semianimemque via. 
Yix ibi stratus, equi sonitum pedis audit, et, oh spe 

Quam laeta adventu cor agitatur equi ! 
Dorsum (inquit) mihi, chare, tuum concede, tuoque 

Auxilio nares fallere, vimque canum. 
Me meus, ut nosti, pes prodit — fidus amicus 

Fert quoclcunque, lubens, nee grave sentit, onus. 
Belle, miselle lepuscule, (equus respondet) amara 

Omnia quae tibi sunt, sunt et amara mihi. 
Yerum age — sume animos — multi, me pone, bonique 

Adveniunt, quorum sis cito salvus ope. 
Proximus armenti dominus bos solicitatus 

Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat: 
Quando quadrupedum, quot vivunt, nullus amicum 

Me nescire potest usque faisse tibi, 
Libertate sequus, quam cedit amicus amico, 

Utar, et absque metu ne tibi displiceam ; 
Hinc me man dat amor . Juxta istum messis acervu m 

Me mea, pra3 cunctis chara, juvenca manet; 
Et quis non ultro quascunque negotia linquit, 

Pareat ut domino cum vocat ipsa suae ? 
Nee me crudelem dicas — discedo — sed hircus, 

Cujus ope effagias integer, hircus adest. 
Febrem (ait hircus) habes . Heu, sicca ut lumina langu ent , 

Utque caput, collo deiiciente, jacet ! 
Hirsutum mihi tergum; et forsan laeserit aegrum, 

Vellere eris melius fultus, ovlsque venit. 



LATIN TRANSLATIONS. 399 



Me mihi fecit onus natura, ovis inquit, anhelans 

Sustineo lanae pondera tanta meae; 
Me nee velocem nee fortem jacto, solentque 

Nos etiam ssevi dilacerare canes. 
Ultimus accedit vitulus, vitulumque precatur, 

Ut periturum alias ocyus eripiat. 
Remne ergo, respondet vitulus,, suscepero tantam, 

Non depulsus adhuc ubere, natus heri ? 
Te, quern maturi canibus validique relinquuut, 

Incolumem potero reddere parvus ego ? 
Praeterea tollens quern illi aversantur, amicus 

Forte parum videar consuluisse meis. 
Ignoscas oro. Fidissima dissociantur 

Corda, et tale tibi sat liquet esse meum. 
Ecce autem ad calces cards est ! te quanta perempto 

Tristitia est nobis ingruitura! — Vale ! 



AVABUS ET PLUTL'S. 

Icta fenestra Euri rlatu stridebat, avarus 

Ex somno trepidus surgit, opumque niemur. 
Lata silenter hurni ponit vestigia, quenique 

Respicit ad sonitum, respiciensque tremit ; 
Angustissima quasque foramina lampade visit, 

Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque manum. 
Dein reserat crebris junctani compagibus arcani 

Exultansque omnes conspicit intus opes. 
Sed tandem funis ultricibus actus ob artes 

Queis sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum. 
Contortis manibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans 

Aurum execratur, perniciemque vocat ; 
mihi, ait, misero mens quam tranquilla fuisset, 

Hoc celasset adhuc si modo terra malum ! 
Nunc autem virtus ipsa est venalis ; et aurum 

Quid contra vitii tormina saeva valet ] 
inimicum aurum ] homini infestissima pestis ; 

Cui datur illecebras vincere posse tuas ] 
Aurum homines sua sit contemnere quicquid honestum est*. 

Et prseter nomen nil retinere boni. 
Aurum cuncta mali per terras semina sparsit; 

Aui'um nocturnis furibus arma dedit. 
Bella docet fortes, timidosaue ad pessima ducit, 

Foedifragas artes, multiplicesqne dolos, 
Nee vitii quicquam est, quod non inveneris ortum 

Ex malesuada auri sacrilegaque fame. 
Dixit, et ingemuit ; Plutusque suum sibi numen 

Ante oculos, ira fervidus, ipse stetit. 
Arcam clausit avarus, et ora horrentia rugis 

Ostendens; tremulum sic Deus increpuit. 
Quesxibus his raucis mihi cur, stulte, obstrepis aures '• 

Ista tui similis tristia quisque canit. 



400 oowper'b poems. 



Commaculavi egone human um genus, improbe 1 Culpa, 

Dum rapis, et captas omnia, culpa tua est. 
Mene execrandum censes, quia tarn pretiosa 

Criminibus fiunt perniciosa tuis ] 
Virtutis specie, pulchro ceu pallio amictus 

Quisque catus nebulo sordida facta tegit. 
Atque suis manibus commissa potentia, durum 

Et dirum subito vergit ad imperium. 
Hinc, nimium dum latro aurum detrudit in arcara. 

Idem aurum latet in pectore pestis edax. 
Nutrit avaritiam et fastum, suspendere adunco 

Suadet naso inopes, et vitium omne docet. 
Auri et larga probo si copia contigit, instar 

Roris dilapsi ex sethere cuncta beat: 
Turn, quasi numen inesset, alit, fovet, educat orboS ? 

Et viduas lacrymis ora rigare vetat. 
Quo sua crimina jure auro derivet avarus, 

Aurum animse pretium qui cupit atque capit? 
Lege pari gladium incuset sicarius atrox 

Caeso homine, et ferrum judicet esse reum. 



PAP1LIO ET LIMAX. 



Qui subito ex imis rerum in fastigia surgifc, 
Nativas sordes, quicquid agatur, olefc. 



TRANSLATIONS 

FROM 

THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUJION. 



THE NATIVITY. 



'Tis folly all — let me no more be told 
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold ; 
Delightful views of nature, dress'd by art, 
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart ; 
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth, 
Makes mean the proud magnificence of earth ; 
The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall, 
Eclipse its lustre ; and I scorn it all. 

Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales, 
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails ; 
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise, 
Earth-born, and yet ambitious of the skies ; 
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades, 
Vainly the sun in all its power invades ; 
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound, 
Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around ; 
Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep, 
And torrents raving down the rugged steep ; 
{Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer ; 
Meads crown'd with flowers ; streams musical and clear, 
Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join 
Their artless charms, to make the scene divine ; 
The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain, 
That seems a rolling sea of golden grain : 
All, all have lost the charms they once possess'd ; 
An infant Grod reigns sovereign in my breast ; 
From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove; 
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love. 

Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force, 
Urge down the valleys your impetuous course ! 
Winds, clouds, and lightnings ! and, ye waves, whose heads, 
CurFd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads ! 
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails, 
Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails ; 
On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides. 
While havoc floats on all thy swelling tides, 

2~c 



402 COWPER S POEMS. 

Thy shores a scene of ruin strew'd around 
With vessels bulged, and bodies c f the drown'd ! 

Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves, 
And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves ; 
Swiffc-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size, 
Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes ! 
Had I but faith immoveable and true, 
I might defy the fiercest storm, like you : 
The world, a more disturb'd and boisterous sea, 
When Jesus shows a smile, affrights not me ; 
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar, 
Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore. 

Thou azure vault where, through the gloom of night 
Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light ! 
Thou moon, whose car, encompassing the skies, 
Restores lost nature to our wondering eyes ; 
Again retiring, when the brighter sun 
Begins the course he seems in haste to run ! 
Behold him where he shines ! His rapid rays, 
Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days ; 
Nothing impedes the race he would pursue, 
Nothing escapes his penetrating view, 
A thousand lands confess his quickening heat, 
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. 

Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, 
I feel the thorn, alas ! but miss the rose : 
Too well I know this aching heart requires 
More solid gold to fill its vast desires; 
In vain they represent his matchless might, 
Who call'd them out of deep primeval night ; 
Their form and beauty but augment my woe, 
I seek the Giver of those charms they show : 
Nor, Him beside, throughout the world he made, 
Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid. 

Infinite Gfod, thou great iinrivalTd One ! 
Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun ; 
Compared with thine, how dim his beauty seems, 
How quench'd the radiance of his golden beams J 
Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move ; 
In thee alone dwells all that I can love. 
All darkness flies when thou art pleased to appear, 
A sudden spring renews the fading year ; 
Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace 
The watchful guardians of our heedless race; 
Thy various creatures in one strain agree, 
All, in all times and places, speak of thee ; 
E'en I, with trembling heart and stammering tongue, 
Attempt thy praise, and join the general song. 

Almighty Former of this wondrous plan, 
Faintly reflected in thine image, man — 
Holy and just — the greatness of whose name 
Fills and supports this universal frame, 
Diffused throughout the infinitude of space, 
Who art thyself thine own vast dwelling-place; 



TRANSLATIONS FRO^I GUION. 403 

Soul of our soul, whoin yet no sense of oura 
Discerns, eluding our most active powers ; 
Encircling shades attend thine awful throne, 
That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown ; 
Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part, 
Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart ! 

Kepeat the charming truth that never tires, 
No God is like the God my soul desires; 
He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He, 
Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me — 
Lo ! there he lies — that smiling infant said, 
" Heaven, earth, and sea, exist !" — and they obey'do 
E'en he, whose being swells beyond the skies, 
Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies ; 
Eternal and immortal, seems to cast 
That glory from his brows, and breathes his last, 
Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought, 
How do they shrink and vanish at the thought ! 

Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose ! 
This rustic sight assuages all my woes — 
That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore ; 
And earth's a shade that I pursue no more. 
He is my firm support, my rock, my tower, 
I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power, 
And hold this mean retreat for ever dear, 
For all I love, my soul's delight is here. 
I see the Almighty swathed in infant bands, 
Tied helpless down the thunder-bearer's hands ! 
And, in this shed, that mystery discern, 
"Which faith and love, and they alone, can learn. 

Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord ! 
Ye zephyrs, all your whisper'd sweets afford ! 
Confess the God, that guides the rolling year ; 
Heaven, do him homage ; and thou, earth, revere ! 
Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring 
Your hearts an offering, and adore your King ! 
Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love ; 
Join, in Ms praise, the harmonious world above; 
To Betkkhem haste, rejoice in his repose, 
And praise him there for all that he bestows ! 

Man, busy man, alas ! can ill afford 
To obey the summons, and attend the Lord ; 
Perverted reason revels and runs wild, 
By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled ; 
And, blind to genuine excellence and grace, 
Finds not her author in so mean a place. 
Ye unbelieving ! learn a wiser part, 
Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart ; 
There soon ye shall perceive a kindling name 
Glow for that infant God, from whom it came ; 
Resist not, quench not, that divine desire, 
Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire i 

Not so will I requite thee, gentle love ! 
Yielding and soft this heart snail ever prove ; 



404 



COWPER'S POEMS. 



And every heart beneath thy power should fall, 
Grlad to submit, could mine contain them all. 
But I am poor, oblation I have none, 
None for a Saviour, but himself alone : 
Whate'er I render thee, from thee it came : 
And, if I give my body to the flame, 
My patience, love, and energy divine 
Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine. 
Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score ! 
The more I pay, I owe thee still the more. 

Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt, 
The trophy of thy glory shall be built; 
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base, 
And my deformity its fairest grace ; 
For destitute of good, and rich in ill, 
Must be my state and my description still. 

And do I grieve at such an humbling lot ? 
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought — 
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu I 
I have no wish, no memory for you ; 
The more I feel my misery, I adore 
The sacred inmate of my soul the more ; 
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride 
Spring from the sense of having nought beside. 

In thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might ; 
My wanderings prove thy wisdom infinite ; 
All that I have I give thee ; and then see 
All contrarieties unite in thee ; 
For thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe, 
And pouring out thy bliss on worms below, 
By filling with thy grace and love divine 
A gulf of evil in this heart of mine. 
This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise, 
And the hills sink — 'tis matching earth and skies ; 
I feel my weakness, thank thee and deplore 
An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more ; 
The more I love thee, I the more reprove 
A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love ; 
Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd, 
I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. 



GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD, 

Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, 

Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise! 

In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, 

For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways. 

That God alone should prop the sinking soul, 
Fills them with rage against his empire now : 
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, 
To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM &JION. 408 

They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, 
While in their bosom many an idol lurks; 
Their base desires, well satisfied, obey, 
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works. 

'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more ; 
Your fellowship, ye warblers ! suits me best : 
Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, 
Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest. 

My God, who form'd you for his praise alone, 
Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you ; 
Come, let us join the choir before his throne, 
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true. 

Yes, I will always love ; and, as I ought, 
Tune to the praise of love my ceaseless voice; 
Preferring love too vast for human thought, 
In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. 

"Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, 
Lord of my soul ! that they might all be thine] 
If thou approve — the zeal thy smile imparts, 
How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline? 

Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire ; 
Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: 
Eternal love a God must needs inspire, 
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise. 

Self-love dismiss'd — 'tis then we live indeed — 

In her embrace, death, only death is found : 

Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed, 

Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound. 

Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear, 

Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone ; 

Let his unequall'd excellence be dear, 

Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own ! 

They hear me not — alas ! how fond to rove 

In endless chase of folly's specious lure ! 

'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, 

I taste the sweets of truth— here only am secure. 



THE SWALLOW. 

I am fond of the swallow — I learn from her flight 
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love : 
How seldom on earth do we see her alight ! 
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. 

It is on the wing that she takes her repose, 
Suspended and poised in the regions of air, 
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows, 
It is wing'd like herself— 'tis ethereal fare. 



406 cowper's poems. 



She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, 
And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun — 
So, true to our love, we should covet his rays, 
And the place where he shines not immediately shun. 

Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer ; 
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth ; 
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare, 
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 

'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below, 
And only when building a nest for her young ; 
Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow 
A thought upon anything filthy as dung. 

Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode), 
To bask every moment in infinite love ; 
Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road 
That leads to the dayspring appearing above. 



THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED. 

Ah ! reign, wherever man is found! 

My spouse, beloved and divine I 
Then I am rich, and I abound, 

When every human heart is thine. 

A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, 
To think that all are not thine own: 

Ah ! be adored from pole to pole ; 
Where is thy zeal ] arise ; be known ! 

All hearts are cold, in every place, 
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue ; 

Dissolve them with a flash of grace, 
Thaw these of ice, and give us new ! 



A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE PROCEDURE OF 
DIVINE LOVE 

IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION AND ABSOLUT3 
ACQUIESCENCE. 

'Twas my purpose, on a day, 

To embark, and sail away. 

As I climb'd the vessel's side, 

Love was sporting in the tide ; 

' ' Come," he said, — " ascend — make haste, 

Launch into the boundless waste." 

Many mariners were there, 
Having each his separate care ; 
They that row'd us held their eyes 
Fix'd upon the starry skies ; 
Others steer'd, or turn'd the sails, 
To receive the shifting &ales. 



TRANSLATIONS FBOM OUION. 407 

Love, with power divine supplied, 
Suddenly my courage tried ; 
In a moment it was night, 
Ship and skies were out of sight ; 
On the briny wave I lay, 
Floating rushes all my stay. 

Did I with resentment burn 

At this unexpected turn ] 

Did I wish myself on shore, 

Never to forsake it more] 

No — (i My soul," I cried, " be still ; 

If I must be lost, I will." 

Next he hasten'd to convey 
Both my frail supports away ; 
Seiz'd my rushes ; bade the wavea 
Yawn into a thousand graves : 
Down I went, and sunk as lead, 
Ocean closing o'er my head. 

Still, however, life was safe ; 
And I saw him turn and laugh : 
(< Friend," he cried, " adieu! lie low, 
While the wintry storms shall blow ; 
When the spring has calm'd the main, 
You shall rise and float again." 

Soon I saw him, with dismay, 
Spread his plumes, and soar away ; 
Now I mark his rapid flight ; 
Now he leaves my aching sight ; 
He is gone whom I adore, 
'Tis in vain to seek him more. 

How I trembled then and fear'd, 
When my love had disappear'd ! 
" Wilt thou leave me thus," I cried, 
" Whelm'd beneath the rolling tide]" 
Vain attempt to reach his ear ! 
Love was gone, and would not hear. 

Ah ! return, and love me still ; 

See me subject to thy will ; 

Frown with wrath, or smile with grace, 

Only let me see thy face ! 

Evil I have none to fear, 

All is good, if thou art near. 

Yet he leaves me — cruel fate ! 
Leaves me in my lost estate- 
Have I sinn'd] Oh, say whereia| 
Tell me, and forgive ray sin I 
King, and Lord, whom I adore, 
Shall I see thy face no more 1 



408 COWPER S POEMS. 



Be not angry ; I resign, 

Henceforth, all my will to thine : 

I consent that thou depart, 

Though thine absence breaks my heart ; 

Gfo then, and for ever too : 

All is right that thou wilt do. 

This was just what Love intended; 
He was now no more offended ; 
Soon as I became a child, 
Love return'd to me and smiled: 
Never strife shall more betide 
'Twixt the bridegroom and his bride. 



A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO SEE HIM BELOVED. 

There's not an echo round me, 

But I am glad should learn, 
How pure a fire has found me, 

The love with which I burn. 
For none attends with pleasure 

To what I would reveal ; 
They slight me out of measure, 

And laugh at all I feel. 

The rocks receive less proudly 

The story of my flame ; 
When I approach, they loudly 

Reverberate his name. 
I speak to them of sadness, 

And comforts at a stand ; 
They bid me look for gladness, 

And better days at hand. 

Far from all habitation, 

I heard a happy sound ; 
Big with the consolation, 

That I have often found. 
I said, " My lot is sorrow, 

My grief has no alloy ;" 
The rocks replied — " To-morrow, 

To-morrow brings th ee j oy . " 

These sweet and sacr.ed tidings, 

What bliss it is to hear ! 
For, spite of all my chidings, 

My weakness and my fear, 
No sooner I receive them, 

Than I forget my pain, 
And, happy to believe them, 

I love as much again. 

I fly to scenes romantic, 

Where never men resort ; 
For in an age so frantic 

Impiety is sport. 



TEANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 409 



For riot and confusion 

They barter things above , 

Condemning, as delusion, 
The joy of perfect loye. 

In this seqnester'd corner, 

None hears what I express ; 
Deliver' d from the scorn er, 

What peace do I possess ! 
Beneath the boughs reclining, 

Or roving o'er the wild, 
I live as undesigning 

And harmless as a child. 

No troubles here surprise me, 

I innocently play, 
While Providence supplies me, 

And guards me all the day : 
My dear and kind defender 

Preserves me safely here, 
From men of pomp and splendour, 

Who fill a child with fear. 



ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD. 

My Spouse ! in whose presence I* live, 

Sole object of all my desires, 
Who know'st what a flame I conceive, 

And canst easily double its fires I 
How pleasant is all that I meet I 

From fear of adversity free, 
I find even sorrow made sweet ; 

Because 'tis assign'd me by thee. 

Transported I see thee display 

Thy riches and glory divine ; 
I have only my life to repay, 

Take what I would gladly resign. 
Thy will is the treasure I seek, 

For thou art as faithful as strong ; 
There let me, obedient and meek, 

Repose myself all the day long. 

My spirit and faculties fail ; 

Oh, finish what love has begun ! 
Destroy what is sinful and frail, 

And dwell in the soul thou hast won 1 
Dear theme of my wonder and praise, 

I cry, who is worthy as thou ] 
I can only be silent and gaze ! 

'Tis all that is left to me now. 

Oh, glory in which I am lost, 

Too deep for the plummet of thought ; 
On an ocean of Deity toss'd, 

I am swallow'd, I sink into nought. 



410 COWPERS POEMS. 



Yet, lost and absorb'd as I seem, 
I chant to the praise of my King ; 

And, though overwhelm'd by the theme, 
Am happy whenever I sing. 



GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD. 

All are indebted much to thee, 

But I far more than all, 
From many a deadly snare set free, 

And raised from many a fall. 
Overwhelm me, from above, 
Daily, with thy boundless love. 

What bonds of gratitude I feel 

No language can declare ; -. 
Beneath the oppressive weight I reel, 

'Tis more than I can bear : 
When shall I that blessing prove, 
To return thee love for love ] 

Spirit of charity, dispense 

Thy grace to every heart ; 
Expel all other spirits thence, 

Drive self from every part ; 
Charity divine, draw nigh, 
Break the chains in which we lie ! 

All selfish souls, whate'er they feigB, 

Have still a slavish lot ; 
They boast of liberty in vain, 

Of love, and feel it not. 
He whose bosom glows with thee, 
He, and he alone, is free. 

Oh blessedness, all bliss above. 
When thy pure fires prevail 1 

Love only teaches what is love : 
All other lessons fail : 

We learn its name, but not its powers, 

Experience only makes it ours. 



HAPPY SOLITUDE— UNHAPPY MEN. 

Mr heart is easy, and my burden light ; 

I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight : 

The more my woes in secret I deplore, 

I taste thy goodness, and I love thee more. 

There, while a solemn stillness reigns around, 
Faith, love, and hope within my soul abound ; 
And, while the world suppose me lost in care, 
The joys of angels, unperceived, I share. 

Thy creatures wrong thee, thou sovereign good I 
Thou art not loved, because not understood ; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 411 

This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile 
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. 

Frail beauty and false honour are adored ; 
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy Word ; 
Pass, unconcerned, a Saviour's sorrows by ; 
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. 



LIVING WATER. 

The fountain in its source, 
No drought of summer fears ; 

The farther it pursues its course, 
The nobler it appears. 

But shallow cisterns yield 

A scanty short suply ; 
The morning sees them amply fili'd, 

At evening they are dry. 



TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE REJECTED BY THE WORLD. 

love, of pure and heavenly birth ! 
simple truth, scarce known on earth ! 
Whom men resist with stubborn will ; 
And, more perverse and daring still, 
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain, 
While error and deception reign. 

Whence comes it, that, your power the same 
As His on high from whence you came, 
- Ye rarely find a listening ear, 
Or heart that makes you welcome here ] — 
Because ye bring reproach and pain, 
Where'er ye visit, in your train. 

The world is proud, and cannot bear 
The scorn and calumny ye share ; 
The praise of men the mark they mean, 
They fly the place where ye are seen ; 
Pure love, with scandal in the rear, 
Suits not the vain ; it costs too dear. 

Then, let the price be what it may, 
Though poor, I am prepared to pay ; 
Come shame, come sorrow ; spite of tears, 
Weakness, and heart- oppressing fears ; 
One soul, at least, shall not repine, 
To give you room ; come, reign in mine ! 



DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE. 

Thou hast no lightnings, thou Jus© t 
Or I their force should know ; 

And, if thou strike me into dust, 
My soul approves the blow. 



412 C0WPER S POEMS. 



The heart, that values less its eass 

Than it adores thy ways, 
In thine avenging anger sees 

A subject of its praise. 

Pleased I could lie, ccfnceal'd and lost, 

In shades of central night ; 
Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, 

But lest I grieve thy sight. 

dmite me, thou, whom I provoke ! 

And I will love thee still : 
The well deserved and righteous stroke 

Shall please me, though it kill. 

Am I not worthy to sustain 
The worst thou canst devise ■; 

And dare I seek thy throng again, 
And meet thy sacred eyes ? 

Far from afflicting, thou art kind ; 

And, in my saddest hours, 
An unction of thy grace I find, 

Pervading all my powers. 

Alas ! thou sparest me yet again ; 

And, when thy wrath should more, 
Too gentle to endure my pain, 

Thou soothest me with thy love. 

I have no punishment to fear ; 

But, ah ! that smile from thee 
Imparts a pang far more severe 

Than woe itself would be. 



THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM EVERYWHERE, 

thotj, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide ; 
My love ! how full of sweet content 

1 pass my years of banishment ! 

All scenes alike engaging prove 
To souls impress'd with sacred love ! 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee ; 
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 

To me remains nor place nor time ; 
My country is in every clime ; 
I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since Grod is there. 

While place we seek, or place we shun, 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 
But, with a Grod to guide our way, 
'Tis squal joy to go or stay. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 418 

Could I be cast where thou art not, 
That were indeed a dreadful lot ; 
But regions none remote I call, 
Secure of finding God in all. 

My country, Lord, art thou alone ; 
Nor other can I claim or own ; 
The point where all my wishes meet ; 
My law, my love, life's only sweet ! 

T hold by nothing here below ; 

Appoint my journey and I go ; 

Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride, 

I feel thee good — feel nought beside. 

No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly love ; 
Though men and devils both condemn, 
No gloomy days arise from them. 

Ah, then ! to his embrace repair ; 
My soul, thou art no stranger there ; 
There love divine shall be thy guard, 
And peace and safety thy reward. 



THE TESTIMONY OF DIVIXE ADOPTION. 

How happy are the new-born race, 
Partakers of adopting grace ! 

How pure the bliss they share ! 
Hid from the world and all its eyes, 
Within their heart the blessing lies, 

And conscience feels it there. 

The moment we believe, 'tis ours ; 
And if we love with all our powers 

The God from whom it came ; 
And if we serve with hearts sincere, 
'Tis still discernible and clear, 

An undisputed claim. 

But, ah ! if foul and wilful sin 
Stain and dishonour us within, 

Farewell the joy we knew ; 
Again the slaves of nature's sway, 
In labyrinths of our own we stray, 

Without a guide or clue. 

The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve 
The gracious Spirit they receive, 

His work distinctly trace ; 
And, strong in undissembling love, 
Boldly assert and clearly prove 

Their hearts his dwelling-place. 

Oh, messenger of dear delight, 
Whose voice dispels the deepest night, 



4U COWPEKS POEMS. 



Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove ! 
With thee at hand, to soothe our pains, 
No wish unsatisfied remains, 

No task but that of love, 
'lis love unites what sin divides ; 
The centre, where all bliss resides ; 

To which the soul once brought, 
Reclining on the first great cause, 
From his abounding sweetness draws 

Peace passing human thought. 
Sorrow forgoes its nature there, 
And life assumes' a tranquil air, 

Divested of its woes ; 
There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, 
Till then incapable of rest, 

In sacred sure repose. 



DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL. 

Love is the Lord whom I obey, 
Whose will transported I perform ; 
The centre of my rest, my stay, 
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. 
For uncreated charms I burn, 
Oppress'd by slavish fear no more, 
For One in whom I may discern, 
E'en when he frowns, a sweetness I adore, 
He little loves him who complains, 
And finds him rigorous and severe ; 
His heart is sordid, and he feigns, 
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere. 

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move 

And stimulate the slumbering mind ; 

And he has never tasted love 

Who shuns a plan so graciously design'd. 

Sweet is the cross, above all sweets, 

To souls enamour 'd with thy smiles ; 

The keenest woe life ever meets, 

Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. 

'Tis just that God should not* be dear 

Where self engrosses all the thought, 

And groans and murmurs make it clear, 

Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not. 

The love of thee flows just as much 

As that of ebbing self subsides; 

Our hearts, their scantiness is such, 

Bear not the conflict of two rival tides. 

Both cannot govern in one soul; 

Then let self-love be dispossess'd ; 

The love of God deserves the whole, 

And will not dwell with so despised a spies*. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 41A 

SELF-DIFFIDENCE. 

Source of love, and light of day, 
Tear me from myself away; 
Every view and thought of mine 
Cast into the mould of thine ; 
Teach, teach this faithless heart 
A consistent constant part ; 
Or, if it must live to grow 
More rebellions, break it now 1 

Is it thus that I requite 
Grace and goodness infinite ] 
Every trace of every boon 
CanceU'd and erased so soon ! 
Can I grieve thee, whom I love ; 
Thee, in whom I live and m 
If my sorrow touch thee still, 
Save me from so great an ill ! 
Oh ! the oppressive, irksome weight., 
Felt in an uncertain state; 
Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu, 
Should I prove at last untrue ! 
Still I choose thee, follow still 
Every notice of thy will ; 
But, unstable, strangely weak, 
Still let slip the good I seek. 
Self-confiding wretch, I thought 
I could serve thee as I ought, 
Win thee, and deserve to feel 
All the love thou canst reveal ; 
Trusting self, a bruised reed, 
Is to be deceived indeed : 
Save me from this harm and loss, 
Lest my gold turn all to dross ? 
Self is earthly — faith alone 
Makes an unseen world our own ; 
Faith relinquished, how we roam, 
Feel our way, and leave our home i 
Spurious gems our hopes entice, 
"While we scorn the pearl of price; 
And, preferring servants' pay, 
Cast the children's bread away. 



THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PUPwE LOVE. 

Love ! if thy destined sacrifice am I, 
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fire3 ; 
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die 
The death which every soul that lives desires 1 
I watch my hours, and see them fieet away; 
The time is long that I have languished here ; 
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey, 
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. 



416 C0WPERS POEMS. 



To me 'tis equal, whether love ordain 
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease ; 
My soul perceives no real ill in pain ; 
In ease or health no real good she sees. 

One good she covets, and that good alone, 
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free; 
And to prefer a cottage to a throne, 
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee. 

That we should bear the cross is thy command, 
Die to the world and live to self no more ; 
Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand, 
As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore. 



REPOSE IN GOD. 

Blest ! who, far from all mankind 
This world's shadows left behind, 
Hears from heaven a gentle strain 
Whispering love, and loves again. 

Blest ! who, free from self-esteem, 
Dives into the great Supreme. 
All desire beside discards, 
Joys inferior none regards. 

Blest ! who in thy bosom seeks 
Rest that nothing earthly breaks, 
Dead to self and worldly things, 
Lost in thee, thou King of kings? 

Ye that know my secret fire, 
Softly speak and soon retire; 
Favour my divine repose, 
Spare the sleep a God bestows. 



GLORY TO GOD ALONE. 

Oh loved! but not enough — though dearer far 
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are; 
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free 
From sensual objects, finds his all in thee. 

Glory of God ! thou stranger here below, 
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know : 
Our faith and reason are both shocked to find 
Man in the post of honour — Thee behind. 

Reason exclaims — " Let every creature fall, 
Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all;" 
And faith, o'erwhelni'd with such a dazzling blaze, 
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys. 

Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind, 
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind, 
In frantic competition dares the skies, 
And claims precedence of the Only wise. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 417 

Oh, lost in vanity, till once self -known 1 
Nothing is great, or good, bnt Gfod alone; 
When thou shalt stand before his awfal face, 
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know his place. 

Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end ! 
When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend] 
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays, 
And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy praise? 

Thy glory is the sweetest heaven I feel; 
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal, 
Thy love, triumphant o'er a selfish will, 
Taught me the passion, and inspires it stilL 

My reason, all my faculties, unite, 
To make thy glory their supreme delight : 
Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days, 
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise ! 

My soul ! rest happy in thy low estate, 
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great, 
To take the impression of a will divine, 
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine. 

Confess him righteous in his just decrees, 

Love what he loves, and let nis pleasure please ; 

Die daily ; from the touch of sin recede ; 

Then thou hast crown'd him, and he reigns indeed. 



SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE. 

From thorny wilds a monster came, 
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame ; 
The birds, forgetful of their mirth, 
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth ; 
When thus a sage address'd mine ear, 
Himself unconscious of a fear : 

" Whence all this terror and surprise, 
Distracted looks and streaming eyes] 
Far from the world and its affairs, 
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, 
Surrender, without guile or art, 
To Grod an undivided heart; 
The savage form, so fear'd before, 
Shall scare your trembling soul no more ; 
For, loathsome as the sight may be, 
'Tis but the love of self you see. 
Fix all your love on Grod alone, 
Choose but his will, and hate your own : 
No fear shall in your path be found, 
The dreary waste shall bloom around, 
And you, through all your happy days, 
Shall bless his name, and sing his praks.* 

Oh lovely solitude, how sweet 
The silence -of this calm retreat ! 



2d 



418 COWPER S POEMS. 



Here truth, the fair whom I pursue, 
Gives all her beauty to my view; 
The simple, unadorn'd display 
Charms every pain and fear away. 
Truth, whom millions proudly slight ; 
Truth, my treasure and delight; 
Accept this tribute to thy name, 
And this poor heart from which it came ! 



THE LOVE OF GOD THE END OF LIFE. 

Since life in sorrow must be spent, 
So be it — I am well content, 
And meekly wait my last remove, 
Seeking only growth in love. 
No bliss I seek, but to fulfil 
In life, in death, thy lovely will; 
No succours in my woes I want, 
Save what thou art pleased to grant, 
Our days are number'd, let us spare 
Our anxious hearts a needless care: 
'Tis thine to number out our days; 
Ours to give them to thy praise. 
Love is our only business here, 
Love, simple, constant, and sincere; 
blessed days, thy servants see, 
Spent, Lord ! in pleasing thee ! 



LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE BELOVED. 

In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys, 
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise ; 
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow, 
Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now; 
Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see, 
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me. 
In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still; 
And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will; 
I have no cause — an object all divine, 
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine; 
Yet pity me, great God ! forlorn, alone, 
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone. 



LOVE PURE AND FERVENT. 

Jealous, and with love o'ernowing, 

God demands a fervent heart; 
Grace and bounty still bestowing, 

Galls us to a grateful part. 
Oh, then, with supreme affection 

His paternal will regard I 
If it cost us some dejection, 

Every sigh has its reward. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 41? 

Perfect love has power to soften 

Cares that might our peace destroy, 
Nay, does more — transforms them of'ten^ 

Changing sorrow into joy. 

Sovereign Love appoints the measure. 

And the number of our pains ; 
And is pleased when we find pleasure 

In the trials he ordains. 



THE ENTIRE SURREOTER. 

Peace has unveil'd her smiling face. 
And wooes thy soul to her embrace, 
EnjoyM with ease, if thou refrain 
From earthly love, else sought in vain ; 
She dwells with all who truth prefer, 
But seeks not them who seek not her. 

Yield to the Lord, with simple heart, 
All that thou hast, and all thou art ; 
Renounce all strength but strength divine; 
And peace shall be for ever thine : 
Behold the path which I have trod, 
My path, till I go home to God. 



THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. 

I place an offering at thy shrine, 
From taint and blemish clear, 

Simple and pure in its design, 
Of all that I hold dear. 

I yield thee back thy gifts again, 
Thy gifts which most I prize ; 

Desirous only to retain 
The notice of thine eyes. 

But if, by thine adored decree, 
That blessing be denied ; 

Resign'd and unreluctant, see 
My every wish subside. 

Thy will in all things I approve, 

Exalted or cast down ; 
Thy will in every state I love, 

And even in thy frown. 



GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE. 

To lay the soul that loves him lo* 
Becomes the Only-wise : 

To hide beneath a veil of woe, 
The children of the skies. 



420 cowper's poems. 



Man, though a worm, would yet he great ; 

Though feeble, would seem strong ; 
Assumes an independent state, 

By sacrilege and wrong. 
Strange the reverse, which, once abased, 

The haughty creature proves ! 
He feels his soul a barren waste, 

Nor dares affirm he loves. 
Scorn'd by the thoughtless and the vam, 

To Grod he presses near ; 
Superior to the world's disdain, 

And happy in its sneer. 
Oh welcome, in his heart he says, 

Humili ty and shame ! 
Farewell the wish for human praise, 

The music of a name ! 
But will not scandal mar the good 

That I might else perform ? 
And can Grod work it, if he would, 

By so despised a worm 1 
Ah, vainly anxious ! — leave the Lord 

To rule thee, and dispose ; 
Sweet is the mandate of his word, 

And gracious all he does. 
He draws from human littleness 

His grandeur and renown ; 
And generous hearts with joy confess 

The triumph all his own. 
Down, then, with self-exalting thoughts ; 

Thy faith and hope employ, 
To welcome all that he allots, 

And suffer shame with joy. 
No longer, then, thou wilt encroach 

On his eternal right ; 
And he shall smile at thy approach, 

And make thee his delight. 



THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE TO BE KEPT. 

Sun ! stay thy course, this moment stay — 

Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day, 

Divulge not such a love as mine, 

Ah ! hide the mystery divine ; 

Lest man, who deems my glory shame, 

Should learn the secret of my flame. 

night ! propitious to my views, 
Thy sable awning wide diffuse ; 
Conceal alike my joy and pain, 
Nor draw thy curtain back again, 
Though morning, by the tears she shows, 
Seems to participate my woes. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. U\ 

Ye stars ! whose faint and feeble fires 

Express my languishing desires, 

Whose slender beams pervade the skies, 

As silent as my secret sighs, 

Those emanations of a soul, 

That darts her fires beyond the Pole ; 

Your rays, that scarce assist the sight, 
That pierce, but not displace the night ; 
That shine indeed, but nothing shew 
Of all those various scenes below, 
Bring no disturbance, rather prove 
Incentives to a sacred love. 

Thou moon ! whose never-failing course 

Bespeaks a providential force, 

Go, tell the tidings of my flame 

To Him who calls the stars by name ; 

"Whose absence kills, whose presence cheera ; 

Who blots, or brightens, all my years. 

While, in the blue abyss of space, 
Thine orb performs its rapid race ; 
Still whisper in his listening ears 
The language of my sighs and tears ; 
Tell him, I seek him, far below, 
Lost in a wilderness of woe. 

Ye thought-composmg, silent hours, 
Diffusing peace o'er all my powers ; 
Friends of the pensive, who conceal, 
In darkest shades, the flames I feel ; 
To you I trust, and safely may, 
The love that wastes my strength away. 

In sylvan scenes and caverns rude, 
I taste the sweets of solitude ; 
Retired indeed, but not alone, 
I share them with a spouse unknown, 
Who hides me here from envious eyes, 
From all intrusion and surprise. 

Imbowering shades and dens profound ! 
Where echo rolls the voice around ; 
Mountains ! whose elevated heads 
A moist and misty veil o'er spreads ; 
Disclose a solitary bride 
To him I love — to none beside. 

Ye rills, that, murmuring all the way, 
Among the polish'd pebbles stray ; 
Creep silently along the ground, 
Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound, 
Some wanderer, whom I would not meet, 
Should stumble on my loved retreat. 



422 COWPER S POEMS. 

Enamell'd meads, and hillocks green, 
And streams that water all the scene, 
Ye torrents, loud in distant ears, 
Ye fountains, that receive my tears, 
Ah ! still conceal, with caution due, 
A charge I trust with none but you ! 

If, when my pain and grief increase 
I seem to enjoy the sweetest peace, 
It is because I find so fair, 
The charming object of my care, 
That I can sport and pleasure make 
Of torment suffer'd for his sake. 

Ye meads and groves, unconscious things ! 
Ye know not whence my pleasure springs , 
Ye know not, and ye cannot know, 
The source from which my sorrows flow : 
The dear sole cause of all I feel, — 
He knows, and understands them well. 

Ye deserts, where the wild beasts rove, 
Scenes sacred to my hours of love ; 
Ye forests, in whose shades I stray, 
Benighted under burning day ; 
Ah I whisper not how blest am I, 
Nor while I live, nor when I die. 

Ye lambs, who sport beneath these shades, 

And bound along the mossy glades ; 

Be taught a salutary fear, 

And cease to bleat when I am near : 

The wolf may hear your harmless cry, 

Whom ye should dread as much as I. 

How calm, amid these scenes, my mind ; 
How perfect is the peace I find ! 
Oh hush, be still, my every part, 
My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart ! 
That love, aspiring to its cause, 
May suffer not a moment's pause. 

Ye swift -finn'd nations, that abide 
In seas, as fathomless as wide ; 
And, unsuspicious of a snare, 
Pursue at large your pleasures there ; 
Poor sportive fools ! how soon does maE 
Your heedless ignorance trepan. 

Away ! dive deep into the brine, 
Where never yet sunk plummet line ; 
Trust me, the vast leviathan 
Is merciful, compared with man ; 
Avoid his arts, forsake the beach, 
A nd never play within his reach. 

My soul her bondage ill endures ; 
I pant for liberty like yours ; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION, 423 



I long for that immense profound, 
That knows no bottom and no bound : 
Lost in infinity, to prove 
The incomprehensible of love. 

Ye birds, that lessen as ye fly, 
And vanish in the distant sky ; 
To whom yon airy waste belongs, 
Resounding with your cheerful songs ; 
Haste to escape from human sight ; 
Fear less the vulture and the late. 

How blest and how secure am I, 
When, quitting earth, I soar on high ; 
When lost, like you I disappear, 
And float in a sublimer sphere ; 
Whence falling, within human view, 
I am ensnared and caught like you ! 

Omniscient Grod, whose notice deigns, 
To try the heart and search the reins, 
Compassionate the numerous woes, 
I dare not, e'en to thee, disclose ; 
save me from the cruel hands 
Of men who fear not thy commands ! 

Love, all-subduing and divine, 
Care for a creature truly thine ; 
Reign in a heart, disposed to own 
No sovereign but thyself alone ; 
Cherish a bride who cannot rove, 
Nor quit thee for a meaner love ! 



THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IK TliS 

CHRISTIAN LIFE. 

I suffer fruitless anguish day by day, 
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain ; 
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, 
And see no end of all that I sustain. 

The more I strive the more I am withstood ; 
Anxiety increasing every hour 
My spirit finds no rest, performs no good, 
And nought remains of all my former power. 

My peace of heart is fled, I know not where ; 
My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away ; 
Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care j 
Night darker seems, succeeding such a day. 

Dear faded joys and impotent regret, 
What profit is there in incessant tears 1 
Oh thou, whom, once beheld, we ne'er forget, 
Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears ! 



424 OOWPERS POEMS. 



Alas ! lie flies me-— treats ine as bis foe, 
Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead ; 
Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, 
Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. 

Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survi ve ; 
My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires 
And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live, 
Hell seems to loose its less tremendous fires. 

Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear, 
So thy severe displeasure might subside? 
Hopeless of ease, I seem already there, 
My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied. 

Is this the joy so promised — this the love, 
The unchanging love, so sworn in better days ] 
Ah ! dangerous glories ! shewn me, but to prove 
How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze. 

Why did I see them ? had I still remain'd 
Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art, 
My hnmbler wishes I had soon obtain'd, 
Nor known the torments of a doubting heart. 

Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires, 
Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain 
Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires, 
Ought she to cherish or shake off her pain ] 

Suffering, I suffer not — sincerely love, 
Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame ; 
As chance inclines me, unconcern'd I move, 
All times, and all events, to me the same. 

I search my heart, and not a wish is there 
But burns with zeal that hated self may fall ; 
Such is the sad disquietude I share, 
A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. 

I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ; 
And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure, 
I would not purchase with a single sigh 
A free discharge from all that I endure. 

I groan in chains, yet want not a release ; 
Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part ; 
Am just as void of purpose as of peace ; 
Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart. 

My claim to life, though sought with earnest car© i 
No light within me, or without me, shews ; 
Once I had faith, but now in tself-despair 
Find my chief cordial and my best repose. 

My soul is a forgotten thing ; she sinks, 
Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise ; 
Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks 
Her name erased for ever from the skies. 






TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 425 

Language affords not my distress a name, — 
Yet it is real and no sickly dream ; 
'Tis love inflicts it ; though to feel that flame 
Is all I know of happiness supreme. 

When love departs, a chaos wide and vast, 
And dark as hell, is open'd in the soul ; 
When love returns, the gloomy scene is past, 
No tempests shake her, and no fsars control. 

Then tell me why these ages of delay ? 
Oh love, all-excellent, once more appear ; 
Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, 
From this abyss of night, these floods of fear ! 

No — love is angry, will not now endure 

A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint ; 

He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure ; 

Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint. 

He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow ; 
He flies, he re-appears, and wounds again — 
Was ever heart that loved thee treated so ? 
Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. 

And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, 
Thou didst distinguish and vouchsafe to choose, 
Before thy laws were written in my mind, 
While yet the world had all my thoughts and views ) 

Now leave me, when, enamour'd of thy laws, 
I make thy glory my supreme delight ] 
Now blot me from thy register, and cause 
A faithful soul to perish from thy sight 1 

What can have caused the change which I deplore 1 
Is it to prove me, if my heart be true ] 
Permit me then, while prostrate I adore, 
To draw, and place its picture in thy view. 

'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine ; 
So given to thee, that it is not my own ; 
A willing captive of thy grace divine ; 
And loves, and seeks thee, for thyself alone. 

Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare ; 
Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust ; 
It loves thee, e'en when least inclined to spare 
Its tender est feelings, and avows thee just. 

'Tis all thine own ; my spirit is so too, 
An undivided offering at thy shrine ; 
It seeks thy glory with no double view, 
Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. 

Love, holy love ! and art thou not severe, 
To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix'd ? 
Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear % 

From all self-bias, generous and umnis'd. 



126 C0WPER S POEMS. 



But I am silent, seeing what I see — 
And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived, 
Not e'en my faith is from suspicion free, 
And that I love seems not to be believed. 

Live thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord ! 
My last, least offering I present thee now — 
Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored ! 
Slay me, my Grod, and 1 applaud the blow. 



WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON 

Sleep at last has fled these eyes, 
Nor do I regret his flight, 
More alert my spirits rise, 
And my heart is free and light. 

Nature silent all around, 
Not a single witness near ; 
Gfod as soon as sought is found ; 
And the flame of love burns clear. 

Interruption, all day long, 
Checks the current of my joys ; 
Creatures press me with a throng, 
And perplex me with their noise. 

Undisturb'd I muse all night, 
On the first Eternal Fair ; 
Nothing there obstructs delight, 
Love is renovated there. 

Life, with its perpetual stir, 
Proves a foe to love and me ; 
Fresh entanglements occur — 
Comes the night, and sets me free. 

Never more, sweet sleep, suspend 
My enjoyments, always new : 
Leave me to possess my friend ; 
Other eyes and hearts subdue. 

Hush the world, that I may wake 
To the taste of pure delights ; 
Oh the pleasures I partake — 
G-od, the partner of my nights ! 

David, for the selfsame cause, 
Night preferr'd to busy day ; 
Hearts whom heavenly beauty draws> 
Wish the glaring sun away. 

Sleep, self-lovers, is for you— 
Souls that love celestial know 
Fairer scenes by night can view 
Than the sun could ever show. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION. 421 

ON THE SAME. 

Season of my purest pleasure, 

Sealer of observing eyes ! 
When, in larger, freer measure, 

I can commune with the skies ; 
While, beneath thy shade extended, 

Weary man forgets his woes, 
I, my daily trouble ended, 

Find, in watching, my reposa. 

Silence all around prevailing, 

Nature hush'd in slumber sweet, 
No rude noise mine ears assailing, 

Now my Grod and I can meet : 
Universal nature slumbers, 

And my soul partakes the calm, 
Breathes her ardour out in numbers, 

Plaintive song or lofty psalm. 

Now my passion, pure and holy, 

Shines and burns without restraint ; 
Which the day's fatigue and folly 

Cause to languish, dim and faint : 
Charming hours of relaxation ! 

How I dread the ascending sun ! 
Surely, idle conversation 

Is an evil match'd by none. 

Worldly prate and babble hurt me ; 

Unintelligible prove ; 
Neither teach me nor divert me ; 

I have ears for none but love. 
Me they rude esteem, and foolish, 

Hearing my absurd replies ; 
I have neither art's fine polish, 

Nor the knowledge of the wise. 

Simple souls, and unpolluted 

By conversing with the great, 
Have a mind and taste ill suited 

To their dignity and state ; 
All their talking, reading, writing, 

Are but talents misapplied ; 
Infants' prattle I delight in, 

Nothing human choose beside. 

'Tis the secret fear of sinning 

Checks my tongue, or I should say, 
When I see the night beginning, 

I am glad of parting day : 
Love this gentle admonition 

Whispers soft within my brea§t ; 
** Choice befits not thy condition, 

Acquiescence suits thee best." 



428 



COWPER S POE3IS. 



Henceforth, the repose and pleasure 

Night affords me I resign ; 
And thy will shall be the measure, 

Wisdom infinite ! of mine : 
Wishing is but inclination 

Quarrelling with thy decrees ; 
Wayward nature finds the occasion — 

'Tis her folly and disease. 
Night, with its sublime enjoyments, 

Now no longer will I choose ; 
Nor the day, with its employments, 

Irksome as they seem, refuse ; 
Lessons of a Grod's inspiring 

Neither time nor place impedes ; 
From our wishing and desiring 

Our unhappiness proceeds. 



ON THE SAME. 

Night ! how I love thy silent shades, 

My spirits they compose ; 
The bliss of heaven my soul pervades, 

In spite of all my woes. 
While sleep instils her poppy dews 

In every slumbering eye, 
I watch to meditate and muse, 

In blest tranquillity. 
And when I feel a Grod immense 

Familiarly impart, 
With every proof he can dispense, 

His favour to my heart ; 
My native meanness I lament, 

Though most divinely fili'd 
With all the ineffable content 

That Deity can yield. 
His purpose and his course he keeps ; 

Treads all my reasonings down ; 
Commands me out of nature's deeps, 

And hides me in his own. 
When in the dust, its proper place, 

Our pride of heart we lay ; 
"Tis then a deluge of his grace 

Bears all our sins away. 
Thou whom I serve, and whose I am, 

Whose influence from on high 
Refines, and still refines my flame, 

And makes my fetters fly ; 
How wretched is the creature's state 

Who thwarts thy gracious power ; 
CJrush'd under sin's enormous weight, 

Increasing every hour ! 



TRANSLATIONS FF.OM GUTON. 



429 



The night, when pass'd entire with thee. 

How luminous and clear ! 
Then sleep has no delights for me, 

Lest thou should'st disappear. 

My Saviour ! occupy me still 

In this secure recess ; 
Let reason slumber if she will, 

My joy shall not be less. 

Let reason slumber out the night ; 

But if thou deign to make 
My soul the abode of truth and light, 

Ah, keep my heart awake ! 



THE JOY OF THE CROSS. 

Long plunged in sorrow, I resign 
My soul to that dear hand of thine, 

Without reserve or fear ; 
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes ; 
Or into smiles of glad surprise 

Transform the falling tear. 

My sole possession is thy love ; 
In earth beneath, or heaven above, 

I have no other store; 
And, though with fervent suit I pray, 
And importune thee night and day, 

I ask thee nothing more. 

My rapid hours pursue the course 
Prescribed them by love's sweetest force, 

And I thy sovereign will, 
Without a wish to escape my doom ; 
Though still a sufferer from the womb, 

And doom'd to suffer still. 

By thy command, where'er I stray, 
Soitow attends me all my way, 

A never-failing friend; 
And, if my sufferings may augment 
Thy praise, behold me well content- 
Let sorrow still attend! 

It cost me no regret, that she, 

Who follow'd Christ, should follow me* 

And though, where'er she goes, 
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet. 
I love her, and extract a sweet 

From all my bitter woes. 

Adieu ! ye vain delights of earth, 
Insipid sports, and childish mirth, 

I taste no sweets in you ; 
Unknown delights are in the cross, 
All joy beside to me is dross; 

And Jesus thought so too. 



430 COWPEft S POEK3. 



The cross ! Oh, ravishment and bliss — 
How grateful e'en its anguish is; 

Its bitterness how sweet ! 
There every sense, and all the mind, 
In all her faculties refined, 

Tastes happiness complete. 

Souls once enabled to disdain 
Base sublunary joys, maintain 

Their dignity secure ; 
The fever of desire is pass'd, 
And love has all its genuine taste, 

Is delicate and pure. 

Self-love no grace in sorrow sees, 
Consults her own peculiar ease ; 

'Tis all the bliss she knows; 
But nobler aims true Love employ ; 
In self-denial is her joy, 

In suffering her repose. 

Sorrow and love go side by side; 
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide 

Their heaven-appointed bands ; 
Those dear associates still are one, 
Nor till the race of life is run 

Disjoin their wedded hands. 

Jesus, avenger of our fall, 
Thou faithful lover, above all 

The cross has ever borne ! 
Oh, tell me, — life is in thy voice — 
How much afflictions were thy choice, 

And sloth and ease thy scorn ! 

Thy choice and mine shall be the same, 
Inspirer of that holy flame 

Which must for ever blaze ! 
To take the cross and follow thee, 
Where love and duty lead, shall be 

My portion and my praise. 






JOY IN MARTYRDOM. 

Sweet tenants of this grove ! 

Who sing without design, 
A song of artless love, 

In unison with mine : 
These echoing shades return 

Full many a note of ours, 
That wise ones cannot learn, 

With all their boasted powers* 

thou ! whose sacred charms 
These hearts so seldom love, 

Although thy beauty warms 
And blesses all above f 



TRAKSLATIONS FROM GUIOK. 

How slow are human things, 
To choose their happiest lot ! 

All -glorious King of kings, 
Say why we love thee not 1 

This heart, that cannot rest, 

Shall thine for ever prove ; 
Though bleeding and distress'd. 

Yet joyful in thy love : 
'Tis happy though it breaks 

Beneath thy chastening hand; 
And speechless, yet it speaks, 

What thou canst understand. 



431 



SIMPLE TRUST. 

Still, still, without ceasing, 

I feel it increasing, 
This fervour of holy desire; 

And often exclaim, 

Let me die in the flame 
Of a love that can never expire ! 

Had I words to explain 

What she must sustain 
Who dies to the world and its ways ; 

How joy and affright, 

Distress and delight, 
Alternately chequer her days: 

Thou, sweetly severe ! 

I would make thee appear, 
In all thou art pleased to award. 

Not more in the sweet 

Than the hitter I meet 
My tender and merciful Lord. 

This faith, in the dark, 

Pursuing its mark, 
Through many sharp trials of love, 

Is the sorrowful waste 

That is to be pass'd 
On the way to the Canaan above. 



THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT, 

Source of love, my brighter sun, 
Thou alone my comfort art; 

See, my race is almost run ; 
Hast thou left this trembling heart ? 

In my youth thy charming eyes 
Drew me from the ways of men; 

Then I drank unmingled joys; 
Frown of thine saw never then. 



432 COWPER S POEMS. 



Spouse of Christ was then my name ; 

And, devoted all to thee, 
Strangely jealous I became, 

Jealous of this self in me. 

Thee to love, and none beside, 
Was my darling, sole employ ; 

While alternately I died, 
Now of grief, and now of joy. 

Through the dark and silent night 
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt ; 

And to see the dawning light 
Was the keenest pain I felt. 

Thou my gracious teacher wert; 

And thine eye, so close applied, 
While it watch'd thy pupil's heart 

Seem'd to look at none beside. 

Conscious of no evil drift, 

This, I cried, is love indeed — 

'Tis the giver, not the gift, 
Whence the joys I feel proceed. 

But, soon humbled and laid low, 
Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, 

Nothing left but sin and woe, 
I perceived how I had err'd. 

Oh, the vain conceit of man, 
Dreaming of a good his own, 

Arrogating all he can, 
Though the Lord is good alone t 

He the graces thou hast wrought 
Makes subservient to his pride; 

Ignorant that one such thought 
Passes all his sin beside. 

Such his folly — proved, at last 
By the loss of that repose, 

Self-complacence cannot taste, 
Only love divine bestows. 

'Tis by this reproof severe, 
And by this reproof alone, 

His defects at last appear, 
Man is to himself made knowE. 

Learn, all earth ! that feeble man, 
Sprung from this terrestrial clod , 

Nothing is, and nothing can ; 
Life and power are all in GrcxL 



TRANSLATIONS FROM GUIOK. 433 



LOVE INCREASED BT SUFFERING. 

" I love the Lord/' is still the strain 

This heart delights to sing : 
But I reply — your thoughts are vain, 

Perhaps 'tis no such thing. 

Before the power of love divine 

Creation fades away ; 
Till only God is seen to shine 

In all that we survey. 

In gulfs of awful night we find 

The God of our desires : 
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind ; 

And doubles all its fires. 

Flames of encircling love invest, 
And pierce it sweetly through ; 

'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd 
With sacred sorrow too. 

Ah love ! my heart is in the right— 

Amidst a thousand woes, 
To thee, its ever new delight, 

And all its peace it owes. 

Fresh causes of distress occur 

Where'er I look or move ; 
The comforts I to all prefer 

Are solitude and love. 

Nor exile I nor prison fear; 

Love makes my courage great ; 
I find a Saviour every where, 

His grace in every state. 

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep, 
Exclude his quickening beams; 

There I can sit, and sing, and weep, 
And dwell on heavenly themes. 

There sorrow, for his sake, is found 

A joy beyond compare; 
There no presumptuous thoughts abound, 
No pride can enter there < 

A Saviour doubles all my joys, 

And sweetens all my pains, 
His strength in my defence employs, 

Consoles me and sustains. 

I fear no ill, resent no wrong ; 

Nor feel a passion move, 
When malice whets her slanderous tongnt f 

Such patience is in love. 



i34 C0WPER S POEMS. 



SCENES FAVOUEABLE TO MEDITATION. 

Wilds horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees, 

Rocks that ivy and briers infold, 
Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees, 

But I with a pleasure untold; 

Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, 
I am charm'd with the peace ye afford; 

Your shades are a temple where none will intrude, 
The abode of my lover and Lord. 

I am sick of thy splendour, fountain of day, 

And here I am hid from its beams. 
Here safely contemplate a brighter display 

Of the noblest and holiest of themes. 

Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose, 

Where stillness and solitude reign, 
To you I securely and boldly disclose 

The dear anguish of which I complain. 

Here, sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot 
By the world and its turbulent throng, 

The birds and the streams lend me many a note 
That aids meditation and song. 

Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night, 

Love wears me and wastes me away, 
And often the sun has spent much of his light 

Ere yet I perceive it ia day. 

While a mantle of darkness envelops the sphere, 

My sorrows are sadly rehearsed, 
To me the dark hours are all equally dear, 

And the last is as sweet as the first. 

Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree, 

Mankind are the wolves that I fear, 
They grudge me my natural right to be free, 

But nobody questions it here. 

Though little is found in this dreary abode 

That appetite wishes to find, 
My spirit is soothed by the presence of God, 

And appetite wholly resign'd. 

Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led, 

My life I in praises employ, 
And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed, 

Proceed they from sorrow or joy. 

There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern, 

I feel out my way in the dark, 
Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn, 

Yet hardly distinguish the spark. 



TRiNSLATIOXS FROM GUION. 



4itt 



i live, yet I seem to myself to be dead, 

Such a riddle is not to be found, 
I am nonrish'd without knowing how I am fed, 

I have nothing, and yet I abound. 

Oh, love ! who in darkness art pleased to abide, 

Though dimly, yet surely I see 
That these contrarieties only reside 

In the soul that is chosen of thee. 

Ah ! send me not back to the race of mankind, 

Perversely by folly beguiled, 
For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find 

The spirit and heart of a child ] 

Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free ; 

A little one whom they despise, 
Though lost to the world, if in union with thee ; 

Shall be holy, and happy, and wise. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOUENE. 



THE GLOWWORM. 

Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, 

A worm is known to stray, 
That shows by night a lucid beam, 

Which disappears by day. 

Disputes have been, and still prevail, 
From whence his rays proceed ; 

Some give that honour to his tail, 
And others to his head. 

But this is sure — the hand of nigh* 

That kindles up the skies, 
Gives him a modicum of light 

Proportion^! to his size. 

Perhaps indulgent Nature meant, 

By such a lamp bestow'd, 
To bid the traveller, as he went, 

Be careful where he trod : 

Nor crush a worm, whose useful light 
Might serve, however small, 

To show a stumbling stone by night, 
And save him from a fall. 

Whate'er she meant, this truth divine 

Is legible and plain, 
'Tis power almighty bids him shine, 

Nor bids him shine in vain. 

Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme 
Teach humbler thoughts to you, 

Since such a reptile has its gem, 
And boasts its splendour too. 



THE JACKDAW. 

'There is a bird who, by his coat 
And by the hoarseness of his note, 

Might be supposed a crow; 
A great frequenter of the church, 
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch^ 

And dormitory too, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURKE. 



431 



Above the steeple shines a plate, 
That turns and turns, to indicate 

From what point blows the weather. 
Look up — your brains begin to swim,— • 
'Tis in the clouds — that pleases hiia, 

He chooses it the rather. 

Fond of the speculative height, 
Thither he wings his airy flight, 

And thence securely sees 
The bustle and the rareeshow, 
That occupy mankind below, 

Secure and at his ease. 

Ycu think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
On future broken bones and bruises, 

If he should chance to fall. 
$"0; not a single thought like that 
Employs his philosophic pate, 

Or troubles it at all. 

He sees that this great roundabout, 
The world, with all its motley rout, 

Church, army, physic, law, 
Its customs and its businesses, 
Is no concern at all of his, 

And says— what says he] — Caw. 

Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 
Much of the vanities of men ; 

And, sick of having seen 'em, 
Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
For such a pair of wings as thine 

And such a head between 'em. 



THE CRICKET. 

Little inmate, full of mirth, 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Wheresoe'er be thine abode, 
Always harbinger of good, 
Pay me for thy warm retreat 
With a song more soft and sweet; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 

Thus thy praise shall be ezpress'd, 
Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
While the rat is on the scout, 
And the mouse with curious snout s 
With what vermin else infest 
Every dish, and spoil the best; 
Frisking thus before the fire, 
Thou hast all thine heart's desire. 



438 COWPER'S POSil^. 



Though in voice and shape they be 
Form d as if akin to thee, 
Thou surpassest, happier far, 
Happiest grasshoppers that are; 
Theirs is but a summer's song, 
Thine endures the winter long, 
Unimpair'd, and shrill, and clear, 
Melody throughout the year. 

Neither night nor dawn of day 
Puts a period to thy play: 
Sing, then — and extend thy span 
Far beyond the'date of man. 
Wretched man, whose years are spent 
In repining discontent, 
Lives not, aged though he be, 
Haifa span, compared with thee. 



THE PARROT. 

In painted plumes superbly dress'd, 
A native of the gorgeous east, 

By many a billow toss'd; 
Poll gains at length the British shore, 
Part of the captain's precious store, 

A present to his toast. 

Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd, 
To teach him now and then a word, 

As poll can master it ; 
But 'tis her own important charge, 
To qualify him more at large, 

And make him quite a wit. 

Sweet Poll ! his doting mistress cries, 
Sweet Poll ! the mimic bird replies, 

And calls aloud for sack. 
She next instructs him in the kiss; 
'Tis now a little one, like Miss, 

And now a hearty smack. 

At first he aims at what he hears; 
And, listening close with both his ears, 

Just catches at the sound; 
But soon articulates aloud, 
Much to the amusement of the crowd, 

And stuns the neighbours round. 

A querulous old woman's voice 
His humorous talent next employs, 

He scolds, and gives the lie. 
And now he sings, and now is sick, 
Here, Sally, Susan, come, come quick, 

Poor Poll is like to die ! 

Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare 

To meet with such a well match'd pair, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 439 

The language and the tone, 
Each character in every part 
Sustain'd with so much grace and art, 

And both in unison. 

When children first begin to spell, 
And stammer out a syllable, 

We think them tedious creatures ; 
But difficulties soon abate, 
When birds are to be taught to prate, 

And women are the teachers. 



THE THRACIAN. 

Thracian parents, at his birth, 
Mourn their babe with many a tear, 

But, with undissembled mirth, 
Place him breathless on his bier; 

Greece and Rome, with equal scorn, 
" the savages V* exclaim, 

" Whether they rejoice or mourn, 
Well entitled to the name 1" 

But the cause of this concern 
And this pleasure would they trace, 

Even they might somewhat learn 
From the savages of Thrace. 



RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE. 

Androcles, from his injured lord, in dread 

Of instant death, to Lybia's desert fled, 

Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with heat, 

He spied at length a cavern's cool retreat ; 

But scarce had given to rest his weary frame, 

When, hugest of his kind, a lion came : 

He roar'd approaching : but the savage din 

To plaintive murmurs changed — arrived within, 

And with expressive looks, his lifted paw 

Presenting, and implored from whom he saw. 

The fugitive, through terror at a stand, 

Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand ; 

But bolder grown, at length inherent found 

A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. 

The cure was wrought ; he wiped the sanious blood, 

And firm and free from pain the lion stood. 

Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day 

Regales his inmate with the parted prey. 

Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, 

Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. 

But thus to live — still lost — sequester'd still — 

Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill. 

Home ! native home ! might he but repair ! 

He must — he will, though death attends him there. 



140 COWPER S POEMS. 



He goes, and doom'd to perish on the e^ada 
Of the full theatre unpitied stands : 
When lo ! the selfsame lion from his cage 
Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage. 
He flies, hut viewing in his purposed prey 
The man, his healer, pauses on his way, 
And, soften'd by remembrance into sweet 
And kind composure, crouches at his feet. 

Mute with astonishment, the assembly gaze : 
But why, ye Romans % Whence your mute amaze 1 
All this is natural : nature bade him rend 
An enemy ; she bids him spare a friend. 



A MANUAL, 



MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT TO BE FOUND 
IN ANT CATALOGUE. 

There is a book, which we may call 

(Its excellence is such) 
Alone a library, though small ; 

The ladies thumb it much. 

Words none, things numerous it contains : 
And things with words compared, 

Who needs be told, that has his brains, 
Which merits most regard 1 

Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue 

A golden edging boast ; 
And open'd, it displays to view 

Twelve pages at the most. 

Nor name, nor title, stamp 'd behind, 

Adorns its outer part ; 
But all within 'tis richly lined, 

A magazine of art. 

The whitest hands that^ secret hoard 

Oft visit : and the fair 
Preserve it in their bosoms stored, 

As with a miser's care. 

Thence implements of every size, 

And form'd for various use 
(They need but to consult their eyes), 

They readily produce. 

The largest and the longest kind 

Possess the foremost page ; 
A sort most needed by the blind, 

Or nearly such, from age. 

The full charged leaf which next ensues, 

Presents in bright array 
The smaller sort, which matrons use, 

Not quite so blind as they. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 44) 

The third, the fourth, the fifth supply 

What their occasions ask, 
Who with a more discerning eye 

Perform a nicer task. 
But still with regular decrease, 

From size to size they fall, 
In every leaf grow less and less ; 

The last are least of all. 
Oh ! what a fund of genius, pern 

In narrow space is here ! 
This volume's method and intent 

How luminous and clear ! 
It leaves no reader at a loss 

Or posed, whoever reads : 
No commentator's tedious gloss, 

Nor even index needs. 
Search Bodley's many thousands o'er ! 

No book is treasured there, 
Nor yet in Granta's numerous store, 

That may with this compare. 
No! — rival none in either host 

Of this was ever seen, 
Or, that contents could justly boast, 

So brilliant and so keen. 



AN ENIGMA. 



A needle, small as small can be, 
In bulk and use surpasses me, 

Nor is my purchase dear; 
For little, and almost for nought 
As many of my kind are bought 

As days are in the year. 
Yet though but little use we boast, 
And are procured at little cost, 

The labour is not light; 
Nor few artificers it asks, 
All skilful in their several tasks, 

To fashion us aright, 
One fuses metal o'er the fire, 
A second draws it into wire, 

The shears another plies ; 
Who clips in length the brazen thread 
From him who, chafing every shred, 

Gives all an equal size. 
A fifth prepares, exact and round, 
The knob with which it must be crown'd : 

His follower makes it fast; 
And with his mallet and his file 
To shape the point, employs awhile 

The seventh and the last. 



U2 COWPER S POEMS. 



Now, therefore, (Edipus! declare 
What creature, wonderful, and raro 

A process that obtains 
Its purpose with so much ado 
At last produces ! — tell me true, 

And take me for your pains ! 



SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, 
CAMBRIDGE. 

None ever shared the social feast, 
Or as an inmate or a guest, 
Beneath the celebrated dome 
Where once Sir Isaac had his home, 
Who saw not (and with some delight 
Perhaps he vieVd the novel sight) 
How numerous, at the tables there, 
The sparrows beg their daily fare. 
For there, in every nook and cell 
Where such a family may dwell, 
Sure as the vernal season comes 
Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs, 
Which kindly given, may serve with food 
Convenient their unfeather'd brood ; 
And oft as with its summons clear 
The warning bell salutes their ear, 
Sagacious listeners to the sound, 
They flock from all the fields around ; 
To reach the hospitable hall, 
None more attentive to the call. 
Arrived, the pensionary band, 
Hopping and chirpmg, close at hand, 
Solicit what they soon receive : 
The sprinkled, plenteous donative. 
Thus is a multitude, though large, 
Supported at a trivial charge ; 
A single doit would overpay 
The expenditure of every day, 
And who can grudge so small a grace 
To suppliants, natives of the place, 



FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. 

As in her ancient mistress' lap 

The youthful tabby lay, 
They gave each other many a tap, 

Alike disposed to play. 

But strife ensues. Puss waxes wans^ 
And with protruded claws 

Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, 
Mere wantonness the cause. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 



448 



At once, resentful of the deed,, 
She shakes her to the ground 

With many a threat that she shall bleed 
With still a deeper wound. 

But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest : 

It was a venial stroke : 
For she that will with kittens jest 

Should bear a kitten's joke. 



INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. 

Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains — 

And seldom another it can — 
To seek a retreat while he reigns 

In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man, 
Who never can seem to intrude, 

Though in all places equally free, 
Come oft as the season is rude, 

Thou art sure to be welcome to me. 

At sight of the first feeble ray 

That pierces the clouds of the east, 
To inveigle thee every day 

My windows shall show thee a feast. 
For, taught by experience, I know, 

Thee mindful of benefit long ; 
And that, thankful for all I bestow, 

Thou wilt pay me with many a song. 

Then, soon as the swell of the buds 

Bespeaks the renewal of spring, 
Fly hence, if thou wilt to the woods, 

Or where it shall please thee to sing : 
And shouidst thou, compelled by a frost, 

Come again to my window or door, 
Doubt not an affectionate host, 

Only pay as thou paid'st me before. 

This music must needs be confess'd 

To flow from a fountain above ; 
Else how should it work in the breast 

Unchangeable friendship and love ? 
And who on the globe can be found, 

Save your generation and ours, 
That can be delighted by sound, 

Or boasts any musical powers 1 



STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. 

The shepherd touch'd his reed ; sweet Philomel 
Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, 

And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, 
The numbers, echo'd note for note again. 



444 COWPERS POE3IS. 



The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before 
A rival of his skill, indignant heard, 

And soon (for various was his tuneful store) 
In loftier tones defied the simple bird. 

She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, 
With all the force that passion gives inspired, 

Return'd the sounds awhile, but in the close 
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. 

Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. fatal strife, 
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun ; 

And, sad victory, which cost thy life, 
And he may wish that he had never won ! 



ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, 

WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED TEAKS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 172flk 

Ancient dame, how wide and vast 

To a race like ours appears, 
Rounded to an orb at last, 

All thy multitude of years ! 

We, the herd of human kind, 

Frailer and of feebler powers ; 
We, to narrow bounds confined, 

Soon exhaust the sum of ours. 

Death's delicious banquet — we 

Perish even from the womb, 
Swifter than a shadow flee, 

Nourish'd but to feed the tomb. 

Seeds of merciless disease 

Lurk in all that we enjoy ; 
Some that waste us by degrees, 

Some that suddenly destroy. 

And, if life o'erieap the bourn 

Common to the sons of men, 
What remains, but that we mourn, 

Dream, and dote, and drivel then ? 

Fast as moons can wax and. wane 
Sorrow comes ; and, while we groac; 

Pant with anguish, and complain, 
Half our years are fled and gone. 

If a few (to few 'tis given), 

Lingering on this earthly stage, 
Creep and halt with steps uneven 

To the period of an age, 

Wherefore live they, but to see 

Cunning, arrogance, and force, 
Sights lamented much by thee, 

Holding their accustom'd course ? 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 



445 



Oft was seen, in ages past, 
All that we with wonder view ; 

Often shall be to the last ; 
Earth produces nothing new. 

Thee we gratulate, content 
Should propitious Heaven design 

Life for us as calmly spent, 
Though but half the length of thins. 



THE CAUSE WON. 

Two neighbours furiously dispute ; 

A field — the subject of the suit. 

Trivial the spot, yet such the rage 

With which the combatants engage, 

'Twere hard to tell who covets most 

The prize — at whatsoever cost. 

The pleadings swell. Words still suffice : 

No single word but has its price. 

No term but yields some fair pretence 

For novel and increased expense. 

Defendant thus becomes a name, 
Which he that bore it may disclaim, 
Since both in one description blended, 
Are plaintiffs — when the suit is ended. 



THE SILKWORM. 

The beams of April, ere it goes, 

A worm, scarce visible, disclose ; 

All winter long content to dwell 

The tenant of his native shell. 

The same prolific season gives 

The sustenance by which he lives, 

The mulberry leaf, a simple store, 

That serves him — till he needs no more ! 

For, his dimensions once complete, 

Thenceforth none ever sees him eat ; 

Though till his growing time be past 

Scarce ever is he seen to fast. 

That hour arrived, his work begins. 

He spins and weaves, and weaves and spias \ 

Till circle upon circle, wound 

Careless around him and around, 

Conceals him with a veil, though slight, 

Impervious to the keenest sight. 

Thus self-enclosed, as in a cask, 

At length he finishes his task ; 

And, though a worm when he was lost, 

Or caterpillar at the most. 

When next we see him, wings he wears, 

And in papilio pomp appears ; 



46 COWPER S POEMS. 

Becomes oviparous ; supplies 
With future -worms and future flies 
The next ensuing year — and dies ! 
Well were it for the world, if all 
Who creep about this earthly ball, 
Though shorter-lived than most he bh 9 
Were useful in their kind as he. 



THE INNOCENT THIEF. 

Not a flower can be found in the fields, 
Or the spot that we till for our pleasure, 

From the largest to the least, but it yields 
The bee never wearied a treasure. 

Scarce any she quits unexplored 

With a diligence truly exact ; 
Yet, steal what she may for her hoard 

Leaves evidence none of the fact. 

Her lucrative task she pursues, 
And pilfers with so much adaress, 

That none of their odour they lose, 
Nor charm by their beauty the less. 

Not thus inoffensively preys 
The cankerworm, in-dwelling foe ! 

His voracity not thus allays 
The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. 

The worm, more expensively fed, 
The pride of the garden devours ; 

And birds peck the seed from the bed, 
Still less to be spared than the flowers. 

But she with such delicate skill 
Her pillage so fits for her use, 

That the chemist in vain with his still 
Would labour the like to produce. 

Then grudge not her temperate meals, 
Nor a benefit blame as a theft ; 

Since, stole she not all that she steals, 
Neither honey nor wax would be left. 



DENNER'S OLD WOMAN. 

In this mimic form of a matron in years, 

How plainly the pencil of Denner appears ! 

The matron herself, in whose old age we see 

Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she ! 

No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low. 

No wrinkle, or deep-furrow'd frown on the brow ! 

Her forehead indeed is here circled around 

With locks like the ribbon with which they are bound , 

While glossy and smooth, and as soft as the skin 

Of a delicate peach, is the down of her chin ; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 447 

But nothing unpleasant, or sad, or severe, 
Or that indicates life in its winter — is here. 
Yet all is express'd with fidelity due, 
Nor a pimple or freckle conceal'd from the view. 

Many fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste 
For the labours of art, to the spectacle haste. 
The youths all agree, that, could old age inspire 
The passion of love, hers would kindle the fire, 
And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see 
Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee. 
The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a decline, 
wonderful woman ! as placid as thine. 

Strange magic of art ! which the youth can engage 
To peruse, half enamour'd, the features of age ; 
And force from the virgin a sigh of despair, 
That she when as old shall be equally fair ! 
How great is the glory that Denner has gain'd, 
Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtain'd. 



THE TEARS OF A PAINTER 

Apelles, hearing that his boy 
Had just expired — his only joy ! 
Although the sight with anguish tore him, 
Bade place his dear remains before him. 
He seized his brush, his colours spread ; 
And — " Oh! my child, accept," — he said, 
" ('Tis all that I can now bestow,) 
This tribute of a father's woe!" 
Then, faithful to the twofold part, 
Both of his feelings and his art, 
He closed his eyes with tender care, 
And form'd at once a fellow pair. 
His brow with amber locks beset, 
And lips he drew not livid yet ; 
And shaded all that he had done 
To a just image of his son. 

Thus far is well. But view again 
The cause of thy paternal pain ! 
Thy melancholy task fulfil ! 
It needs the last, last touches still. 
Again his pencil's powers he tries, 
For on his lips a smile he spies : 
And still his cheek unfaded shows 
The deepest damask of the rose. 
Then, heedful to the finished whole, 
With fondest eagerness he stole, 
Till scarce himself distinctly knew 
The cherub copied from the true. 

Now, painter, cease ! Thy task is done 
Long lives this image of thy son ; 
Nor short-lived shall thy glory prove 
Or of thy labour or thy love. 



as 



COWPERS POEMS. 



THE MAZE. 
From right to left, and to and fro, 
Caught in a labyrinth you go, 
And turn, and turn, and turn again, 
To solve the mystery, but in vain ; 
Stand still, and breathe, and take from me 
A clue, that soon shall set you free ! 
Not Ariadne, if you met her, 
Herself could serve you with a better. 
You enter'd easily — find where — 
And make with ease your exit there ! 



NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER. 

The lover, in melodious verses, 
His singular distress rehearses ; 
Still closing with a rueful cry, 
" Was ever such a wretch as I !" 
Yes ! thousands have endured before 
All thy distress ; some, haply, more. 
Unnumber'd Corydons complain. 
And Strephons, of the like disdain ; 
And if thy Chloe be of steel, 
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel; 
Not her alone that censure fits, 
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits. 



THE SNAIL. 



To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, 
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, 
As if he grew there, house and all 

Together. 
Within that house secure he hides, 
When danger imminent betides 
Of storm, or other harm besides 

Of weather. 
Grive but his horns the slightest touch, 
His self-collecting power is such, 
He shrinks into his house, with much 

Displeasure. 
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, 
Except himself has chattels none, 
Well satisfied to be his own 

Whole treasure. 
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, 
Nor partner of his banquet needs, 
And if he meets one, only feeds 

The faster. 
Who seeks him must be worse than blind, 
(He and his house are so combined,) 
If, finding it, he fails to find 

Its master. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 449 



THE CANTAB. 

With two spurs or one,, and no great matter which, 
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, 
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, 
Paid part into hand ; — you must wait for the rest. 
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, 
And out they both sally for better or worse; 
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather ; 
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither. 
Through the fields and the towns ; (see !) he scampers a long r 
And is look'd at and laugh'd at by old and by young. 
Till, at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with blood, 
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud. 
In a wagon or chaise, shall he finish his route? 
Oh ! scandalous fate ! he must do it on foot. 

Young gentlemen, hear ! — I am older than you ; 
The advice that I give I have proved to be true ; 
Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, 
The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. 



TRANSLATIONS 

OF THE 

LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON, 



ELEGY I. 

TO CHARLES DEODATI. 

At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come 

Charged with thy kindness, to their destined home ; 

They come, at length, from Deva's Western side, 

Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. 

Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be, 

Though born of foreign race, yet born for me, 

And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, 

Must seek again so soon his wonted home ; 

I well content, where Thames with influent tide 

My native city laves, meantime reside, 

Nor zeal nor duty now my steps impel 

To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 

Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, 

That to the musing bard all shade deny. 

'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain, 

And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. 

If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent 

Beneath my father's roof, be banishment, 

Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse 

A name expressive of the lot I choose. 



450 COWPER S POEMS. 

I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, 

Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more. 

He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, 

And, Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise : 

For here I woo the muse, with no control, 

And here my books — my life — absorb me whole. 

Here too I visit, or to smile or weep, 

The winding theatre's majestic sweep ; 

The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits 

My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; 

Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, 

Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, 

Or some coif 'd brooder o'er a ten years' cause, 

Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws. 

The lacquey, there, oft dupes the wary sire, 

And, artful, speeds the enamour'd son's desire. 

There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, 

What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love. 

Or, if impassion'd tragedy wield high 

The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly, 

Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, 

I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief. 

At times, e'en bitter tears yield sweet relief, 

As, when from bliss untasted torn away, 

Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day ; 

Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, 

Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe ; 

When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords, 

Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. 

Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, 

I dwell ; but, when spring calls me forth to roam. 

Expatiate in our proud suburban shades 

Of branching elm that never sun pervades. 

Here many a virgin troop I may descry, 

Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. 

Ob forms divine ! oh looks that might inspire 

E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire, 

Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes, 

Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies ; 

Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow'd 

By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road I 

Bright locks, love's golden snare ! these falling low, 

Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow ! 

Cheeks, too, more winning sweet than after shower 

Adonis turn'd to Flora's favourite flower ! 

Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the embrace 

Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! 

Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast ! 

And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast ! 

Submit, ye nymphs of Greece ! ye, once the bloom 

Of Ilion ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 

Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains 

Redundant, and still live in classic strains ! 

To British damsels beauty's palm is due ; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



451 



Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. 

Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands, 

Whose towering front the circling realm commands, 

Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see 

In all the earth, bnt it abounds in thee. 

The virgin multitude that daily meets, 

Eacliant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, 

Outnumbers all her train of starry fires 

"With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. 

Fame says that, wafted hither by her doves, 

With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, 

Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more, 

Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. 

But, lest the sightless boy enforce my stay, 

I leave these happy walls while yet I may. 

Immortal Moly shall secure my heart 

From all the sorcery of Circoean art, 

And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools, 

To face once more the warfare of the schools. 

Meantime accept this trifle ! 1 hymes though few, 

Yet such as prove thy friend's remembrance true ! 



ON THE DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT 
CAMBRIDGE. 

Thee, whose ref ulgent staff and summons ciear 
Minerva's flock long time was wont to obey, 

Although thyself a herald, famous here, 
The last of heralds, death, has snatch'd away. 

He calls on all alike, nor even deigns 

To spare the office that himself sustains. 

Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd 

By Leda's paramour in ancient time ; 
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decayed, 

Or, M son -like, to know a second prime, 
Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won 
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. 

Commission'd to convene with hasty call 

The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand ! 
So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall, 

Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command ! 
And so Eurybates, when he address'd 
To Peleus' son Atrides' proud behest. 

Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rigorous laws 
And watchful eyes run through the realms below, 

Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause ! 
Too often to the muse not less a foe ! 

Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim 

Pierce useless drones, earth's burden and its shame • 



452 cowper's poems. 



Flow, therefore, tears for him from every eye,, 
All ye disciples of the muses, weep ! 

Assembling all in robes of sable dye, 

Around his bier lament his endless sleep ! 

And let complaining elegy rehearse 

In every school her sweetest, saddest verse. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, 

Silent I sat, dejected and alone, 

Making, in thought, the public woes my own, 

When first arose the image in my breast 

Of England's suffering by that scourge, the pest ! 

How Death, his funeral torch and scythe in hand, 

Entering the lordliest mansions of the land, 

Has laid the gem-illumined palace low, 

And levell'd tribes of nobles at a blow. 

I next deplored the famed paternal pair, 

Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air ! 

The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies, 

All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs ; 

But thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most, 

Winton's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast ! 

Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said : 

" Death, next in power to Him who rules the dead 1 

Is it not enough that all the woodlands yield 

To thy fell force, and every verdant field ; 

That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, 

And e'en the Cyprian queen's own roses pine ; 

That oaks themselves, although the running rill 

Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will ; 

That all the winged nations, even those 

Whose heaven-directed* flight the future shows, 

And all the beasts that in dark forests stray, 

And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey 1 

Ah envious ! arm'd with powers so unconfined ! 

Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind ? 

Why take delight, with darts that never roam, 

To chase a heaven-born spirit from her home?" 

While thus I mourn'd, the star of evening stood, 
Now newly risen above the western flood, 
And Phoebus from his morning goal again 
Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main. 
I wish'd repose, and, on my couch reclined, 
Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd : 
When — on for words to paint what I beheld ! 
I seemM to wander in a spacious field, 
Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light, 
Like that of sunrise on the. mountain height; 
Flowers over all the field, of every hue 
That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. 






TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



453 



Nor Chloris, with whom amorous Zephyrs play, 
E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. 
A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd 
O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold j 
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers, 
With airs awaken'd under rosy bowers. 
Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er 
The sun's abode on India's utmost shore. 

While I that splendour, and the mingled shade 
Of fruitful vines, with wonder fix'd, survey'd, 
At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace, 
The seer of Winton stood before my face. 
His snowy vesture's hem descending low, 
His golden sandals swept, and, pure as sno^r 
New fallen, shone the mitre on his brow. 
Where'er he trod, a tremulous sweet sound 
Of gladness shook the flowery scene around: 
Attendant angels clap their starry wings, 
The trumpet shakes the sky. all ether rings; 
Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast, 
And thus a sweeter voice than ail the rest: 
" Ascend, my son ! thy Father's kingdom share ! 
My son ! henceforth be freed from every care !" 

So spake the voice, and at its tender close 
With psaltery's sound the angelic band arose ; 
Then night retired, and, chased by dawning day, 
The visionary bliss pass'd all away. 
I mourn'd my banish'd sleep with fond concern ; 
Frequent to me may dreams like this return ! 



ELEGY IV. 
TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, 

CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURG. 

Hence, my epistle — skim the deep — fly o'er 

Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore! 

Haste — lest a friend should grieve for thy delay — 

And the gods grant tbat nothing thwart thy way ! 

I will myself invoke the king who binds 

In his Sicanian echoing vault the winds, 

With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng 

Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. 

But rather, to ensure thy happier haste, 

Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou may it ; 

Or that whence young Triptolemus of yore 

Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. 

The sands that line the German coast descried, 

To opulent Hamburga turn aside ! 

So call'd, if legendary fame be true, 

From Hama, whom a club -arm 'd Cimbrian slew I 

There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just, 

A faithful steward of his Christian trust. 



454 COWPER'S POEMS. 

My friend, and favourite inmate of my heart, 
That now is forced to want its better part ! 
What mountains now, and seas, alas ! how wide I 
From me this other, dearer self divide, 
Dear as the sage renown'd for moral truth 
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth ! 
Dear as the Stagyrite to Amnion's son, 
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ! 
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine 
In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. 
First led by him through sweet Aonian shade, 
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd; 
And, favour 'd by the muse, whom I implored, 
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd. 
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd 
To Aries, has new tinged his fleece with gold, 
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay, 
And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away, 
Since last delighted on his looks I hung 
Or my ear drank the music of his tongue : 
Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed; 
Aware thyself that there is urgent need ; 
Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see 
Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee; 
Or turning, page by page, with studious look, 
Some bulky father, or Grod's holy book ; 
Or ministering (which is his weightiest care) 
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. 
Give him, whatever his employment be, 
Such gratulation as he claims from me ! 
And, with a downcast eye, and carriage meek, 
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak : 

" If compass'd round with arms thou canst attend 
To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. 
Long due, and late, I left the English shore ; 
But make me welcome for that cause the more ! 
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, 
The slow epistle came, though late, sincere. 
But wherefore this ? why palliate I the deed 
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ] 
Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part 
He feels neglected, with an aching heart; 
But thou forgive — delinquents, who confess, 
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; 
From timid foes the lion turns away, 
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey. 
E'en pike- wielding Thracians learn to spare, 
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer ; 
And heaven's dread thunderbolt arrested stands 
By a cheap victim and uplifted hands. 
Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld, 
And writes at last, by love alone compell'd, 
For fame, too often true, when she alarms, 
Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of arms ; 



TRAFSLATtOHS FROM MILTOH. 456 



Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd, 

And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared. 

Enyo wastes thy country wide around, 

And saturates with blood the tainted ground. 

Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more, 

But goads his steeds to fields of German gore, 

The ever verdant olive fades and dies, 

And Peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies, 

Flies from that earth which justice long had left, 

And leaves the world of its last guard bereft." 

Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime 
Thou dwell'st, and helpless, in a soil unknown; 
Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand 
The aid denied thee in thy native land. 
Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more 
Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore ! 
Leavest thou to foreign care the worthies given 
By Providence to guide thy steps to heaven'; 
His ministers, commission'd to proclaim 
Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name ! 
Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, 
In Stygian night to lie for ever dead ! 
So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd 
An exiled fugitive from shade to shade, 
When, flying Ahab and his fury wife, 
In lone Arabian wilds he shelter d life; 
So from Philippa wander'd forth forlorn, 
Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; 
And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more 
The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore. 

But thou take courage ! strive against despair ! 
Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care \ 
Grim war indeed on every side appears, 
And thou art menaced by a thousand spears; 
Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend 
E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend. 
For thee the iEgis of thy god shall hide, 
Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. 
The same who vanquish'd under Sion's towers 
At silent midnight all Assyria's powers, 
The same who overthrew in ages past 
Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste ! 
Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fear?, 
By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears, 
Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar 
Of clashing armour, and the din of war. 

Thou, therefore (as the most afflicted may), 
Still hope and triumph o'er thy evil day ! 
Look forth, expecting happier times to come, 
And to enjoy, once more, thy native home i 



*56 COWPEIt's POEMS'* 



ELEGY V. 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 

Time, never wandering from his annual round, 

Bids zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground ; 

Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain, 

And earth assumes her transient youth again. 

Dream I, or also to the spring belong 

Increase of genius, and new powers of song ] 

Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'er it seems, 

Impels me now to some harmonious themes. 

Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill 

By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill ; 

My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within 

A sacred sound that prompts me to begin. 

Lo ! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends 

The radiant laurel wreath ; Phoebus descends ! 

I mount, and undepress'd by cumbrous clay, 

Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; 

Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly : 

The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, 

My spirit searches all the realms of light, 

And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. 

But this ecstatic trance — this glorious storm 

Of inspiration — what will it perform ] 

Spring claims the verse that with his influence glows, 

And shall be paid with what himself bestows. 

Thou, veil'cl with opening foliage, lead'st the throng 
Of feathered minstrels, Philomel! in song; 
Let us, in concert, to the season sing, 
Civic and sylvan heralds of the spring ! 

With notes triumphant spring's approach declare ! 
To spring, ye muses, annual tribute bear ! 
The Orient left, and Ethiopia's plains, 
The sun now northward turns his golden reins ; 
Night creeps not now ; yet rules with gentle sway, 
And drives her dusky horrors swift away; 
Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain 
Bootes follows his celestial wain ; 
And now the radiant sentinels above, 
Less numerous, watch around the courts of Jove, 
For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly, 
And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. 
Now, haply says some shepherd, while he views, 
Recumbent on a rock, the reddening clews, 
tfhis night, this, surely, Phoebus rniss'd the fair, 
Who stops his chariot by her amorous care. 
Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow, 
Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow; 
Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear, 
Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. 
Come — Phoebus cries — Aurora, come — too late 
Thou lingerest, slumbering, \yith thy wither'd mate; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 45f 



Leave him, and to Hymettus' top repair ! 

Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there. 

The goddess with a blush her love betrays, 

But mounts, and, driving rapidly, obeys. 

Earth now desires thee, Phoebus ! and, to engage 

Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; 

Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet 

\Vhen her rich bosom courts thy genial heat 1 

Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows 

Arabia's harvest and the Paphian rose. 

Her lofty front she diadems around 

With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd ; 

Her dewy locks with various flowers new blown 

She interweaves, various, and all her own; 

For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, 

Tasnarian Dis himself with love inspired. 

Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse ! 

Herself, with all her sighing zephyrs, sues; 

Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing, 

And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 

Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires 

The amorous Earth to engage thy warm desires, 

But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim, 

Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. 

If splendid recompence, if gifts, can move 

Desire in thee, (gifts often purchase love,) 

She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, 

And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. 

How oft, when headlong from the heavenly steep 

She sees thee playing in the western deep, 

How oft she cries — " Ah, Phoebus, why repair 

Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there 1 

Can Tethys win thee ? wherefore shouldst thou lave 

A face so fair in her unpleasant wave 1 

Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose 

To cool thy tresses in my crystal dews. 

The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest; 

Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast, 

And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose, 

Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose ! 

No fears I feel like Semele to die, 

Nor lest thy burning wheels approach too nigh, 

For thou canst govern them, here therefore rest, 

And lay thy evening glories on my breast ! " 

Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous flame. 
And all her countless offspring feel the same ; 
For Cupid now through every region strays, 
Brightening his faded fires with solar rays; 
His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound, 
And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound ; 
Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, 
Nor even Yesta at her altar-side ; 
His mother too repairs her beauty's wane, 
And seems sprung newly from the deep again. 



458 cowper's poems. 

Exulting youths the hymeneal sing, 

With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring ; 

He, new-attired, and by the season drest, 

Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest. 

Now many a golden-cinctured virgin roves 

To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, 

All wish, and each alike, some favourite youth 

Hers, in the bonds of hymeneal truth. 

Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, 

Nor Phillis wants a song that suits the strain ; 

"With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, 

And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear : 

Jove feels himself the season, sports again 

With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. 

Now too the satyrs, in the dusk of eve, 

Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave, 

And, neither god nor goat, but both in kind, 

Silvanus, wreathed with cypress, skips behind. 

The dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells 

To roam the banks and solitary dells ; 

Pan riots now ; and from his amorous chafe 

Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe, 

And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize, 

In chase of some enticing oread flies ; 

She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound 

And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. 

Our shades entice the immortals from above, 

And some kind power presides o'er ev'ry grove ; 

And long, ye powers, o'er ev'ry grove preside, 

For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! 

Return, Jove ! the age of gold restore — 

Why choose to dwell where storms and thunder roar ? 

At least thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed ! 

Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed, 

Command rough winter back, nor yield the pole 

Too soon to night's encroaching, long control. 



ELEGY VI. 
TO CHARLES DEODATI, 

Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poetical epistle, \n 
which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused 03 
account of the many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which would not 
allow him leisure to finish them as he wished. 

With no rich viands overcharged, I send 

Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend. 

But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away 

From what she loves, from darkness into day ] 

Art thou desirous to be told how well 

I love thee, and in verse % verse cannot tell. 

For verse has bounds, and must in measure move ; 

But neither bounds nor measure knows my love. 

How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear 

December's harmless sports and rural cheer ! 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 458 



French spirits kindling with caerulean fires, 
And all such gambols as the time inspires ! 

Think not that wine against good verse offends, 
The muse and Bacchus have been always friends ; 
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found 
With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd. 
The Nine themselves ofctimes have join'd the song 
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; 
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air 
Sing sweetly — why 1 — no vine would flourish there* 
What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse ] 
Wine, and the rose that sparkling wine bedews. 
Pindar with Bacchus glows — his every line 
Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine, 
While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lies, 
And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. 
The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays 
So sweet in Grlycera's and Chloe's praise. 
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl 
Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul ; 
The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, 
.And casks not wine alone but verse bestow. 
Tnus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend. 
Whom Bacchus and whom Ceres both befriend. 
What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet, 
In which these triple powers so kindly meet ! 
The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought, 
And, touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught, 
In tapestried halls, high-roof 'd, the sprightly lyre 
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 
If dull repletion fright the muse away, 
Sights gay as these may more invite her stay ; 
And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound, 
Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, 
Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame, 
Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame, 
And all the muse shall rush into thy breast, 
By love and music's blended powers possest. 
For numerous powers light Elegy befriend, 
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend ; 
Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, 
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. 
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use 
Of banquets and the vine's delicious juice. 
But they who demigods and heroes praise, 
And feats perforni'd in Jove's more youthful days. 
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore 3 
Now shades that echo the Cerberean roar, 
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live, 
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; 
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine, 
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine ! 
Their youth should pass in innocence secure 
From stain licentious, and in manners pure, 



460 COWPER's POE3IS. 



Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands, 

The fresh lustration ready in his hands. 

Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write, 

Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ; 

Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the Bard of Thrace, 

Melodious tamer of the savage race ; 

Thus train'd by temperance, Homer led, of yore, 

His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore, 

Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign, 

And shoals insidious with the syren train ; 

And through the realms where grizzly spectres dwell, 

Whose tribes he fetter'd in a gory spell ; 

For these are sacred bands, and from above 

Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove. 

Wouldst thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear,) 
Wouldst thou be told my occupation here 1 
The promised King of Peace employs my pen, 
The eternal covenant made for guilty men, 
The new-born Deity, with infant cries 
Filling the sordid hovel where he lies ; 
The hymning angels, and the herald star, 
That led the wise, who sought him from afar, 
And idols on their own unhallow'd shore 
Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more. 

This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse : 
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse ; 
Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend 
Thy candid voice, my critic and my friend ! 



ELEGY VII. 



As yet a stranger to the gentle fires 

That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires, 

Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts, 

And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts. 

" Gro, child," I said, "transfix the timorous dove? 

An easy conquest suits an infant love ; 

Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be 

Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! 

"Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ] 

Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind." 

The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire, 
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire. 

It was the spring, and newly-risen day 
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May; 
My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light, 
Still sought the shelter of retiring night, 
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes array'd. 
The insidious god his rattling darts betray'd, 
Nor less his infant features, and the sly, 
Sweet intimations of his threatening eye. 

Such the Sigeian boy is seen above, 
Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; 



TaANSLATIOUS FROM MILTON. 461 

Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their charms, 

Hylas, who perish'd in a naiad's arms. 

Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, 

And added threats not destitute of fire. 

" My power," he said, " by others' pain alone, 

'Twere best to learn ; novv T learn it by thy own ! 

With those that feel my power, that power attest ! 

And in thy anguish be my sway confest ! 

I vanquished Phoebus, though returning vain 

From his new triumph o'er the Python slain, 

And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he 

"Will yield the prize of archery to me. 

A dart less true the Parthian horseman spec, 

Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled : 

Less true the expert Cydonian, and less true 

The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew. 

Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, 

By me Alcides, and Alcides* friend. 

At me should Jove himself a bolt design, 

His bosom first should bleed, transfix'd by mine. 

But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain, 

Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. 

Thy muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace ensure, 

Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure." 

He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, 
Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. 

That thus a child should bluster in my ear, 
Provoked my laughter more than moved my fear, 
I shunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray 'd 
Careless in city or suburban shade, 
And, passing and repassing nymphs, that moved 
With grace divine, beheld where'er I roved. 
Bright shone the vernal day with double blaze 
As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays. 
By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed 
The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide, 
And many a look of many a fair unknown 
Met full, unable to control my own. 
But one I mark'd, (then peace forsook my breast,) 
One — oh how far superior to the rest ! 
What lovely features ! such the Cyprian queen 
Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien. 
The very nymph was she, whom, when I dared 
His arrows, Love had even then prepared ! 
Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied 
With torch well trimm'd and quiver at his side ; 
Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids now, 
Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow; 
And with a thousand wounds from every part 
Pierced and transpierced my undefended heart. 
A fever, new to me, of fierce desire 
Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire ; 
But she, the while, whom only I adore, 
Was gone, and vanish 'd, to appear no more. 



462 COWPEIl's POEMS. 

In silent sadness I pursue my way ; 

I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay, 

And, while I follow her in thought, bemoan 

With tears my soul's delight so quickly flown . 

When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast, 

So Yulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost, 

And so (E elides, sinking into night, 

From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. 

"Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain. 
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain ] 
Oh, could I once, once more, behold the fair, 
Speak to her, tell her of the pangs I bear; 
Perhaps she is not adamant; would show, 
Perhaps, some pity at my tale of woe. 
Oh inauspicious flame-^tis mine to prove 
A matchless instance of disastrous love. 
Ah, spare me, gentle power! — If such thou be, 
Let not thy deeds and nature disagree. 
Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine 
With vow and sacrifice save only thine. 
Now I revere thy fires, thy bow., thy darts : 
Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts. 
Remove ! no — grant me still this raging woe ! 
Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know : 
But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see 
One destined mine) at once both her and me. 

Such were the trophies that, in earlier days, 
By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise ; 
Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth, 
That worst of teachers, from the ways of truth ; 
Till Learning taught me in his shady bower 
To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his power. 
Then, on a sudden the fierce flame supprest, 
A frost continual settled on my breast, 
Whence Cupid fears his flame extinct to see, 
And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. 



THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. 

A FABLE. 

A peasant to his lord paid yearly court, 
Presenting pippins of so rich a sort, 
That he, displeased to have a part alone, 
Removed the tree, that all might be his own. 
The tree, too old to travel, though before 
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more. 
The 'squire, perceiving all his labour void, 
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employ'd, 
And, (< Oh," he cried, "that I had lived content 
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! 
My avarice has expensive proved to me, 
Has cost me both my pippins and my tree." 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 46S 



EPIGRAMS. 



G3ff THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. 

Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won, 
Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun ; 
But greater he, whose bold invention strove 
To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 

(The po<*ns on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I have not translated, both 
because the matter of them is unpleasant, and because they are written with an 
asperity, which, however it might be warranted in Milton's day, would be extremelj 
unseasonable now.) 



TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.* 

Another Leonora once inspired 

Tasso with fatal love, to frenzy fired ; 

But how much happier, lived he now, were he, 

Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee ! 

Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine, 

With Adriana's lute of sound divine, 

Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll, 

Or idiot apathy benumb his soul, 

You still with medicinal sounds might cheer 

Eis senses wandering in a blind career ; 

And, sweetly breathing through his wounded breast, 

Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. 

TO THE SAME. 

Naples, too credulous, ah ! boast no more 
The sweet-voiced syren buried on thy shore, 
That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave 
Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave, 
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse 
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course, , 
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains 
Of magic song both gods and men detains. 



TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH CROMWELL'S 
PICTURE. 
Christina, maiden of heroic mien ! 
Star of the North ! of northern stars the queen ! 
Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how 
The iron casque still chafes my veteran brow. 
While following Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil 
The dictates of a hardy people's wiU. 
But soften'd in thy sight my looks appear, 
Not to all queens or kings alike severe. 

* I hare translated only two of the three poetical compliments address sd to 
t^,onora, as they appear to me far superior to what I havo omitted. 



464 COWPER S POEMS. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, A PHYSICIAN, 

Learn, ye nations of the earth, 
The condition of your birth, 
Now be taught your feeble state ! 
Know, that all must yield to fate ! 

2f the mournful rover, Death, 

{Say but once — " Kesign your breath ! " 

Vainly of escape you dream, 

You must pass the Stygian stream . 

Could the stoutest overcome 
Death's assault, and baffle doom, 
Hercules had both withstood, 
Undiseased by Nessus' blood. 

Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain 
By a trick of Pallas slain, 
Nor the chief to Jove allied 
By Achilles' phantom died. 

Could enchantments life prolong, 
Circe, saved by magic song, 
Still had lived, and equal skill 
Had preserved Medea still. 

Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power 
To avert man's destined hour, 
Learn'd Machaon should have known 
Doubtless to avert his own : 

Chiron had survived the smart 
Of the hydra-tainted dart, 
And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, 
Foil'd by Asclepiades. 

Thou too, sage ! of whom forlorn 
Helicon and Cirrha mourn, 
Still hadst fill'd thy princely place, 
Regent of the gowned race : 

Hadst advanced to higher fame 
Still thy much-ennobled name, 
Nor in Charon's skiff explored 
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. 

But resentful Proserpine, 
Jealous of thy skill divine, 
Snapping short thy vital thread, 
Thee too number'd with the dead. 
Wise and good ! untroubled be 
The green turf that covers thee ! 
Thence, in gay profusion, grow 
All the sweetest flowers that blow I 

Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! 
JEacus pronounce thee blest ! 
To her home thy shade consign ! 
Make Elvsium ever thine ! 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



465 



ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY. 

My lids with grief were tumid yet, 

And still my sullied cheek was wet 

With briny dews profusely shed 

For venerable Winton dead : 

When fame, whose tales of saddest sound, 

Alas ! are ever truest found, 

The news through all our cities spread 

Of yet another mitred head 

By ruthless fate to death consign'd, 

Ely, the honour of his kind ! 

At once a storm of passion heaved 
My boiling bosom, much I grieved ; 
But more I raged, at every breath 
Devoting Death himself to death. 
With less revenge did Naso teem 
When hated Ibis was his theme ; 
With less Archilochus denied 
The lovely Greek his promised bride. 

But lo ! while thus I execrate, 
Incensed, the minister of fate, 
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear, 
Wafted on the gale I hear. 

" Ah, much deluded ! lay aside 
Thy threats and anger misapplied ! 
Art not afraid with sounds like these 
To offend, where thou canst not appease ] 
Death is not (wherefore dreamst thou thus 1) 
The son of Night and Erebus : 
Nor was of fell Erynnis born 
On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn ; 
But, sent from God, his presence leaves, 
To gather home his ripen'd sheaves, 
To call encumber'd souls away 
From fleshy bonds to boundless day, 
(As when the winged hours excite, 
And summon forth the morning light,) 
And each to convoy to her place 
Before the Eternal Father's face. 
But not the wicked — them, severe 
Yet just, from all their pleasures here 
He hurries to the realms below, 
Terrific realms of penal woe I 
Myself no sooner heard his call, 
Than, 'scaping through my prison wftll, 
I bade adieu to bolts and bars, 
And soar'd, with angels, to the stars, 
Like him of old, to whom 'twas given 
To mount on fiery wheels to heaven. 
Bootes' wagon, slow with cold, 
Appall'd me not ; nor to behold 
The sword that vast Orion draws, 
Or e'en the Scorpion's horrid claws. 



4GS COWPER S POEMS. 

Beyond the sun's bright orb I fly, 
And far beneath my feet descry' 
Night's dread goddess, seen with awe, 
Whom her winged dragons draw. 
Thus, ever wondering at my speed, 
Augmented still as I proceed, 
I pass the planetary sphere, 
The milky way — and now appear 
Heaven's crystal battlements, her door 
Of massy pearl, and emerald floor. 

" But here I cease. For never can 
The tongue of once a mortal man 
In suitable description trace 
The pleasures of that happy place ; 
Suffice it, that those joys divine ■ 
Are a}}, and all for ever, mine !" 



NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIMS. 

Ah, how the human mind wearies herself 

With her own wanderings, and, involved in gloom 

Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! 

Measuring in her folly things divine 

By human ; laws inscribed on adamant 

By laws of man's device ; and counsels fix'd 

For ever, by the hours that pass and die. 

How ? — shall the face of nature then be plough'd 
Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last 
On the great parent fix a sterile curse ] 
Shall even she confess old age, and halt, 
And 3 palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows ? 
Shall foul antiquity with rust, and drought, 
And famine, vex the radiant worlds above 1 
Shall Time's unsated maw crave and ingulf 
The very heavens, that regulate his flight ] 
And was the Sire of all able to fence 
His works, and to uphold the circling worlds, 
But, through improvident and heedless haste 
Let slip the occasion ?— so then — all is lost — 
And in some future evil hour, yon arch 
Shall crumble, and come thundering down, the poles 
Jar in collision, the Olympian king, 
Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth 
The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain, 
Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd 
Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heaven. 
Thou also, with precipitated wheels, 
Phoebus ! thy own son's fall shalt imitate, 
With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep 
Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss, 
At the extinction of the lamp of day. 
Then too shall Haamus, cloven to his base, 
Be shatter'd, and the huge Ceraunian hills, 
Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immersed 



TEANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 467 



In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 

No. The Almighty Father surer laid 
His deep foundations, and providing well 
For the event of all, the scales of fate 
•Suspended in just equipoise, and bade 
His universal works, from age to age, 
One tenor hold, perpetual, undisturb'd. 

Hence the prime mover wheels itself about 
Continual, day by day, and with it bears, 
In social measure swift, the heavens around. 
Not tardier now is Saturn than of old, 
Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. 
Phoebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows 
The effalgence of his youth, nor needs the god 
A downward course, that he may warm the vales ; 
But, ever rich in influence, runs his road, 
Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone. 
Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star 
From odoriferous Ind, whose ofiice is 
To gather home betimes the ethereal flock, 
To pour them o'er the skies again at eve, 
And to discriminate the night and day. 
Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and wanes 
Alternate, and with arms extended still 
She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams. 
Nor have the elements deserted yet 
Their functions ; thunder with as loud a stroke 
As erst smites through the rocks and scatters them. 
The east still howls ; still the relentless north 
Invades the shuddering Scythian, still he breathes 
The winter, and still rolls the storms along. 
The king of ocean, with his wonted force, 
Beats on Pelorus ; o'er the deep is heard 
The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell ; 
Nor swim the monsters of the iEgean sea 
In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. 
Thou too, thy ancient vegetative power 
Enjoy'st, Earth ! Narcissus still is sweet; 
And Phoebus ! still thy favourite, and still 
Thy favourite Cytherea ! both retain 
Their beauty ; nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd 
For punishment of man, with purer gold 
Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the deep. 

Thus in unbroken series all proceeds ; 
And shall, till wide involving either pole, 
And the immensity of yonder heaven, 
The final flames of destiny absorb 
The world, consumed in one enormous pyre ! 



ON THE PLATONIC IDEA AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY 
ARISTOTLE. 
Ye sister powers, who o'er the sacred groves 
Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 



*68 COWPER S POEMS. 



Mnemosyne ! and thou who, in thy grot 

Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge 

The archives and the ordinances of Jove, 

And dost record the festivals of heaven, 

Eternity! — inform us, who is He, 

That great original, by nature chosen 

To be the archetype of human kind, 

Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles 

Themselves coeval, one, yet every where, 

An image of the Grod who gave him being 1 

Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, 

He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though 

Of common nature with ourselves, exists 

Apart, and occupies a local home — 

Whether, companion of the stars, he spend 

Eternal ages, roaming at his will 

From sphere to sphere, the tenfold heavens, or dwell 

On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth, 

Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit 

Among the multitude of souls ordainM 

To flesh and blood ; or whether (as may chance) 

That vast and giant model of our kind 

In some far distant region of this globe 

Sequester'd stalk with lifted head on high 

O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest 

The stars, terrific even to the gods. 

Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved 

His best illumination, him beheld 

In secret vision ; never him the son 

Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night 

Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd; 

Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet 

The ancestry of Ninus' chronicles, 

And Belus, and Osiris, far renown'd ; 

Nor even thrice great Hermes/ although skill'd 

So deep in mystery, to the worshippers 

Of Isis show'd a prodigy like mm. 

And thou, who hast immortalized the shades 
Of Academus, if the schools received 
This monster of the fancy first from thee, 
Either recall at once thy banish'd bards 
To thy republic, or thyself, evinced 
A wilder fabulist, go also forth. 



TO HIS FATHEIL. 

Oh that Pieria's spring would through my breast 

Pour its inspiring influence, and rush 

No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood; 

That, for my venerable father's sake 

All meaner themes renounced, my muse^ on wingss 

Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain ! 

For thee, my father ! howsoe'er it please, 

She frames this slender work; nor know I aught 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 465 



That may thy gifts more suitably requite : 
Though to requite them suitably would ask 
Returns much nobler, and surpassing far 
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : 
But, such as I possess, I send thee all. 
This page presents thee in their full amount 
With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought ; 
Nought, save the riches that from airy dream 
In secret grottoes and in laurel bowers, 
I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired. 

Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou 
Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) 
Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still 
Some scintillations of Promethean fire, 
Bespeaks him animated from above. 
The gods love verse ; the infernal powers themselves 
Confess the influence of verse, which stirs 
The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains 
Of adamant both Pluto and the shades. 
In verse the Delphic priestess and the pale 
Tremulous sybil make the future known ; 
And he who sacrifices, on the shrine 
Hangs verse, both when he smites the threatening bull 
And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide 
To scrutinize the fates enveloped there. 
We too, ourselves, what time we seek again 
Our native skies, and one eternal now 
Shall be the only measure of our being, 
Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre 
Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above, 
And make the starry firmament resound. 
And, even now, the fiery spirit pure 
That wheels yon circling orbs, directs himself 
Their mazy dance with melody of verse 
Unutterable, immortal, hearing which 
Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd; 
Orion, soften'd, drops his ardent blade, 
And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. 
Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet 
Luxurious dainties, destined to the gulf 
Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere 
Lyams deluged yet the temperate board. 
Then sat the bard a customary guest 
To share the banquet, and, his length of locks 
With beechen honours bound, proposed in verse 
The characters of heroes and their deeds, 
To imitation ; sang of chaos old, 
Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search 
Of acorns fallen, and of the thunderbolt 
ISTot yet produced from iEtna's fiery cave. 
And what avails, at last, tune without voice, 
Devoid of matter] Such may suit perhaps 
The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song 
Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hsar f 



<70 cowper's poems. 



And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone 
"Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more, 
To sympathetic tears the ghosts themselves 
He moved; these praises to his verse he owes. 

Nor thon persist, I pray thee, still to slight 
The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain 
And useless powers, by whom inspired, thyself 
Art skilful to associate verse with airs 
Harmonious, and to give the human voice 
A thousand modulations, heir by right 
Indisputable of Arion's fame. 
Now say, what wonder is it, if a son 
Of thine delight in verse, if, so conjoin'd 
In close affinity, we sympathize 
In social arts and kindred studies sweet? 
Such distribution of himself to us 
Was Phoebus' choice ; thou hast thy gift, and I 
Mine also, and between us we receive, 
Father and son, the whole inspiring Grod. 

No ! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume 
Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle muse, 
My father ! for thou never badest me tread 
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
To opulence, nor did'st condemn thy son 
To the insipid clamours of the bar, 
To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; 
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 
My mind with treasure, ledd'st me far away 
From city din to deep retreats, to banks 
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent, 
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. 
I speak not now, on more important themes 
Intent, of common benefits, and such 
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, 
My father ! who, when I had open'd once 
The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learn'd 
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, 
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, 
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers 
That Gfallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth 
Italian his degenerate speech adorns, 
That witnesses his mixture with the Groth ; 
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. 
To sum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains, 
The earth beneath it, and the air between, 
The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head, 
And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, 
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 

Gro now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds 
That covet it ; what could my father more ) 
What mere could Jove himself, unless he gave 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



4T! 



His own abode, the heaven, in which he reigns i 

More eligible gifts than these were not 

Apollo's to his son, had they been safe 

As they were insecure, who made the boy 

The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule 

The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 

To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath. 

I therefore, although last and least, my place 

Among the learned in the laurel grove 

Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines, 

Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng 

Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 

Away then, sleepless care, complaint, away. 

And envy, with thy "jealous leer malign I" 

Nor let the monster calumny shoot forth 

Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes ! 

Ye all are impotent against my peace, 

For I am privileged, and bear my breast 

Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. 

But thou ! my father, since to render thanks 
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
Thy liberality, exceeds my power, 
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, 
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! 
Ye, too, the favourite pastime of my youth, 
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
To hope longevity, and to survive 
Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd 
In the oblivious Lethaean gulf, 
Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
Improve the fathers of a distant age ! 



TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MUCH INDISPOSED. 

The original is written in a measure called Scazon, which signifies limping, and th.9 
measure is so denominated, because, though in other respects Iambic, it terminatei 
with a Spondee, and has, consequently, a more tardy movement. 

The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latin verse cannot be 
imitated in English. 

My halting muse, that dragg'st by choice along 
Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, 
And likest that pace, expressive of thy cares, 
Not less than Diopeia's sprightlier airs, 
When in the dance she beats with measured tread 
Heaven's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed ; 
Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine 
Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. 
Thus writes that Milton, then, who, wafted o'c? 
From his own nest on Albion's stormy shore, 
"Where Eurus, fiercest of the iEolian baud, 
Sweeps with ungovem'd rage the blasted land,* 
Of late to more serene Ausonia came 
To view her cities of illustrious name, 



m OOWPEr's POEMS. 



To prove, himself a witness of the truth, 
How wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth. 
Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free 
From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, 
Who now endurest the langour and the pains 
That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins ; 
Relentless malady ! not moved to spare 
By thy sweet Roman voice and Lesbian air ! 

Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies, 
And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, 
Pythius, or Paean, or what name divine 
Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine 1 
Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills that melt 
With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt ! 
If aught salubrious in your confines grow, 
Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe, 
That, render'd to the muse he loves, again 
He may enchant the meadows with his strain. 
Numa, reclined in everlasting ease 
Amid the shade of dark embowering trees, 
Viewing with eyes of unabated fire 
His loved iEgeria, shall that strain admire : 
So soothed, the tumid Tiber shall revere 
The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year, 
Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein, 
And guide them harmless, till they meet the main. 



TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, 

MARQUIS OP VILLA. 

milton's account ot kanso. 

Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian nobleman of the highest 
estimation among his countrymen, for genius, literature, and military accomplish- 
ments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he -was 
much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among the other princes of his 
country, in his poem, entitled, Gerusalemme Conquistata, book xx. 

Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, 

Risplende il Manso. 
During the author's stay at Naples he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand 
kind offices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem 
* short time before his departure from that city. 

These verses also to thy praise, the Nine, 
Manso ! happy in that theme, design, 
For, G alius and Mascenas gone, they see 
None such besides, or whom they love as thee , 
And if my verse may give the meed of fame, 
Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. 
Already such, it shines in Tasso's page 
(For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, 
And, next, the muse consign'd (not unaware 
How high the charge) Marino to thy care, 
"Who, singing to the nymphs Adonis' praise, 
Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. 
To thee alone the poet would entrust 
His latest vows, to thee alone his dust; 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 473 

And tliou with punctual piety hast paid, 

In labour 'd brass, thy tribute to his shade, 

Nor this contented thee — but lest the grave 

Should aught absorb of theirs which thou could'st save, 

All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach 

The life, lot, genius, character of each, 

Eloquent as the Carian sage, who, true 

To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 

I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come 
Chill'd by rude blasts that freeze my northern home, 
Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim, 
And thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name. 
Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye 
A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky, 
Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young, 
To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 
We too, where Thames with its unsullied waves 
The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves, 
Hear oft by night, or, slumbering, seem to hear, 
O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling clear; 
And we could boast a Tityrus of yore 
Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. 

Yes — dreary as we own our northern clime, 
E'en we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme, 
We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has received 
(If legends old may claim to be believed) 
No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear, 
The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, 
The fragrant crocus, and, to grace his fane, 
Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train ; 
Druids, our native bards in ancient time, 
Who gods and heroes praised in hallow'd rhyme ! 
Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround 
Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, 
They named the virgins who arrived of yore 
With British offerings on the Delian shore, 
Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, 
Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung, 
And Hacaerge, with the golden hair, 
All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms bare. 

Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime 
Shall ring with Tasso's praise in afcer time, 
Or with Marino's, shalt be known their friend, 
And with an equal flight to fame ascend. 
The world shall hear how Phoebus and the Nine 
Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine. 
Yet Phoebus, when of old constraint to roam 
The eai th, an exile from his heavenly home, 
E nter 'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door, 
Though Hercules had ventured there before. 
But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene 
Of rural peace, clothed with perpetual green s 
And thither, oft as respite he required, 
From rustic clamours loud, the god retired. 



114 cowper's poems. 



There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclined 
At some oak's root, with, ivy thick entwined, 
Won by his hospitable friend's desire, 
He soothed his pains of exile with the lyre. 
Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore, 
Nor (Eta felt his load of forest more ; 
The upland elms descended to the plain, 
And soften'd lynxes wonder 'd at that strain. 
Well may we think, oh, dear to all above ! 
Thy birth distinguished by the smile of Jove, 
And that Apollo shed his kindliest power, 
And Maia's son, on that propitions hour, 
Since only minds so born can comprehend 
A poet's worth, or yield that worth a Mend. 
Hence on thy yet nnfaded cheek appears 
The lingering freshness of thy greener years ; 
Hence in thy front and features we admire 
Nature unwither'd and a mind entire. 
Oh, might so true a friend to me belong, 
So skill'd to grace the votaries of song, 
Should I recall hereafter into rhyme 
The kings and heroes of my native clime, 
Arthur the chief, who even now prepares, 
In subterraneous being, future wars, 
With all his martial knights, to be restored 
Each to his seat around the federal board; 
And oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse 
Our Saxon plunderers in triumphant verse ! — 
Then, after all, when, with the past content, 
A life I finish, not in silence spent ; 
Should he, kind mourner, o'er my deathbed bend, 
I shall but need to say — " Be yet my friend ! " 
He too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe 
To honour me, and with the graceful wreath 
Or of Parnassus or the Paphian isle 
Shall bind my brows — but I shall rest the while. 
Then also, if the fruits of faith endure 
And virtue's promised recompence be sure, 
Borne to those seats to which the blest aspire 
By purity of soul and virtuous fire, 
These rites, as fate permits, I shall survey 
With eyes illumined by celestial day, 
And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven, 
Joy in the bright beatitude of heaven ! 



TRANSLATIONS FEOM MILTON. 473 

ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Ti»yr*is and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always pursued the same studies, 
and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, 
•while travelling for improvement, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and 
after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condi- 
tion, in this poem. 

By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the Italian city of Lncca 
by his father's side, in other respects an Englishman ; a youth of uncommon genius, 
erudition, and virtue. 

Ye Nymphs of Himera, (for ye have shed 

Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead, 

And oyer Bion's long-lamented bier, 

The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear,) 

Now through the villas laved by Thames rehearse 

The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, 

What sighs he heaved, and how with groans profound 

He made the woods and hollow rocks resound, 

Young Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour 

His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour. 

The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear, 
And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year, 
Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air 
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there ; 
For he, enamour'd of the muse, remain'd 
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd, 
But, stored at length with, all he wish'd to learn, 
For his nock's sake, now hasted to return ; 
And when the shepherd had resumed his sea,t 
At the elm's root, within his old retreat, 
Then 'twas his lot then all his loss to know, 
And from his burden' d heart he vented thus his woe : 

" Gro, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Alas ! what deities shall I suppose 
In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes, 
Since, my Damon ! their severe decree 
So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! 
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid 
With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade ! 
Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls, 
And separates sordid from illustrious souls, 
Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign 
A happier lot with spirits worthy thine ! 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance 
The wolf first give me a forbidding glance. 
Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long 
Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue. 
To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay, 
And, after him, to thee the votive lay, 
While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love, 
Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove ; 
At least, if ancient piety and truth, 
With all the learned labours of thy youth, 



47* C0WPER S POEMS. 



May serve thee aught, or to have left behind 
A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Who now my pains and perils shall divide, 
As thou wast wont, for ever at my side, 
Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet, 
And when the herbage all was parch 'd with heat ; 
Whether the grim wolfs ravage to present, 
Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went ; 
Whose converse now shall calm my stormy day, 
With charming song who now beguile my way] 

' i Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
In whom shall I confide % Whose counsel find 
A balmy medicine for my troubled mind] 
Or whose discourse with innocent delight 
Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night, 
While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, 
And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there, 
While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, 
And the wind thunders through the neighbouring elm 1 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, 
And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech, 
When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge, 
And the stretch 'd rustic snores beneath the hedge, 
Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein 
Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown 
With tangled boughs, I wander now alone, 
Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower 
Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower. 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, 
And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields ! 
My rambling vines unwedded to the trees, 
Bear shrivell'd grapes ; my myrtles fail to please ; 
Nor please me more my flocks : they, slighted turn 
Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. 

' ' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
JEgon invites me to the hazel grove, 
Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove, 
And young Alphesibceus, to a seat 
Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. 
' Here fountains spring — here mossy hillocks rise ; 
Here zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.' — 
Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call, 
I gain the thickets, and escape them all. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 4T? 



" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
To other cares than those of feeding you. 
Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well 
The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell, 
For he by chance had noticed my return,) 
' What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern 1 
Ah, Thyrsis, thou art either crazed with love, 
Or some sinister influence from above ; 
Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue ; 
His leaden shaft oblique has pierced thee through.' 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are, 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
The nymphs amazed, my melancholy see, 
And, ' Thyrsis ! ' cry — i what will become of thee ] 
What wouldst thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appear 
The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe; 
Brisk youth should laugh and love — ah, shun the fate 
Of those, twice wretched mopes ! who love too late 1 ' 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
iEgle with Hyas came, to soothe my pain, 
And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain, 
Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat 
Known far and near, and for her self-conceit ; 
Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands 
That skirt the Idumanian current stands ; 
But all in vain they came, and but to see 
Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Ah, blest indifference of the playful herd, 
None by his fellow chosen, or preferr'd I 
No bonds of amity the flocks inthral, 
But each associates, and is pleased with all ; 
So graze the dappled deer in numerous droves, 
And all his kind alike the zebra loves ; 
That same law governs, where the billows roar, 
And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore ; 
The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race, 
His fit companion finds in every place, 
With whom he picks the grain that suits him best- 
Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest, 
And whom, if chance the falcon makes his prey, 
Or hedger with his well aim'd arrow slay, 
For no such loss the gay survivor grieves, 
New love he seeks, and new delight receives. 
We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice, 
Scorning all others, in a single choice. 
We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind, 
And if the long-sought good at last we find, 
When least we fear it, Death our treasure steals, 
And gives our heart a wound that nothing heals. 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are ?«11 now due to other cars. 



COWPER S POEMS. 



All, what delusion lured me from my flocks, 

To traverse Alpine snows and rugged rocks ! 

What need so great had I to visit Rome, 

Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? 

Or, had she flourish'd still, as when, of old, 

For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold, 

What need so great had I to incur a pause 

Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause, 

For such a cause to place the roaring sea, 

Re aks, mountains, woods, between my friend and me 1 

Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, composed 

Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids closed, 

And, at the last, had said — ' Farewell — ascend — 

Nor even in the skies forget thy friend ! ' 

" Go, go, my lambs, nut ended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Although well pleased, ye tuneful Tuscan swains ! 
My mind the memory of your worth retains, 
Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn 
My Damon lost. — He too was Tuscan born, 
Born in your Lucca, city of renown ! 
And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. 
Oh how elate was I, when, stretch'd 1 : 
The murmuring course of Arno's breezy tide, 
Beneath the poplar grove I pass'd my hove 
N ow cropping myrtles, and now vernal flowers, 
And hearing, as I lay at ease along, 
Your swains contending for the prize of song ! 
I also dared attempt (and, as it seems, 
Not much 1 attempting) various themes, 

For even I can presents boast from you, 
The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too, 
And Dati and Francini both have made 
My name familiar to the beechen shade, 
And they are learn'd, and each in every place 
Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race. 

" Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare j 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
While bright the dewy grass with moonbeams shone. 
And I stood hurdling in my kids alone, 
How often have I said (but thou hadst found 
Ere then thy dark cold lodgment underground), 
Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares, 
Or wickerwork for various use prepares ! 
How oft, indulging fancy, Lave I plann'd 
New scenes of pleasure that I hoped at hand, 
Call'd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — 
1 What, hoa ! my friend — come lay thy task aside ; 
Haste, let us forth together, and beguile 
The heat beneath yon whispering shades awhile, 
Or on the margin stray of Cclr- : d, 

Or where Cassibelan's grey turrets stood ! 
There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach 
Thy friend the name and healing powers of each, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



m 



From the tall bluebell to the dwarfish weed, 

What the dry land, and what the marshes breed, 

For all their kinds alike to thee are known, 

And the whole art of Galen is thy own/ 

Ah, perish Galen's art, and wither'd be 

The useless herbs that gave not health to thee ! 

Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream, 

I meditating sat some statelier theme, 

The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though new, 

And unessay'd before, than wide they flew, 

Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain 

The deep-toned music of the solemn strain ; 

And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell 

How proud a theme I chose — ye groves, farewell. 

' ' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other caro. 
Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be, 
How with his barks he plough'd the British sea, 
First from Rutupia's towering headland seen, 
And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; 
Of Brennus and Belinus, brothers bold, 
And of Arviragus, and how of old 
Our hardy sires the Armorican controlTd, 
And of the wife of Gorlois, who, Burprii 
By Uther, in her husband's form disguised, 
(Such was the force of Merlin's art,) became 
Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. 
These themes I now revolve — and oh — if Fate 
Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date, 
Adieu my shepherd's reed — yon pine-tree bough 
Shall be thy future home, there dangle thou 
Forgotten and disused, unless ere long 
Thou change thy Latian for a British song : 
A British ? — even so — the powers of man 
Are bounded ; little is the most he can ; 
And it shall well suffice me, and shall be 
Fame and proud recompence enough foi 
If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn, 
If Alain bending o'er his crystal urn, 
Swift- whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream. 
Thames, lovelier far than ail in my esteem, 
Tamar's ore-tinctured flood, and, after these, 
The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. 

" Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
All this i kept in leaves of laurel rind 
Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd, 
This — and a gift from Ifanso's hand beside, 
(Manso, not least his native city's pride.) 
Two cups that radiant as their giver shone, 
Adom'd by sculpture with a double zone. 
The bj re ; here slowly wind 

The Red Sea shores with groves of spices lined ; 
Her plumes c hues amid the boughs 



4S0 COW PER S POEMS. 

The sacred, solitary phoenix shows, 

And, watchful of the dawn, reverts her head 

To see Aurora leave her watery bed. 

— In other part, the expensive vault above, 

And there too, even there, the god of love ; 

With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays 

A vivid light, his geni-tipt arrows blaze, 

Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, 

Nor aims at vulgar minds or little souls, 

Nor deigns one look below, but, aiming high, 

Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; 

Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn 

The power of Cupid, and enamour'd burn. 

" Thou, also, Damon, (neither need I fear 
That hope delusive,) thou art also there ; 
For whither should simplicity like thine 
Retire, where else should spotless virtue shine ] 
Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades below, 
Nor tears suit thee — cease then, my tears, to flow. 
Away with grief : on Damon ill bestow'd ! 
Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode, 
Has pass'd the showery arch, henceforth resides 
With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides 
Quaffs copious immortality and joy 
With hallow'd lips ! — Oh ! blest without alloy, 
And now enricli'd with ail that faith can claim, 
Look down, entreated by whatever name, 
If Damon please thee most, (that rural sound 
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around) 
Or if Deodatus, by which alone 
In those ethereal mansions thou art known. 
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste 
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, 
The honours, therefore, by divine decree 
The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee : 
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band, 
And the green palm branch waving in thy hand, 
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice, 
And join with seraphs thy according voice, 
Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre 
Gruides the blest orgies of the blazing quire." 



AN ODE, ADDRESSED TO MR JOHN ROUSE, 

LIBBA2IAN OP THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 

On a lost Volume of my Poems, which he desired me to replace, that ho taisitf *d4 
them to my other Works deposited in the Library. 
This ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more adequately represent the 
original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain measure. It may possi- 
bly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it cost the writer more labour than 
the translation of any other piece in the whole collection. 

STROPHE. 

My twofold book ! single in show 
But double in contents. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 481 

Neat, but not curiously adorn'd, 

Which, in his early youth, 
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, 
Although an earnest wooer of the muse- 
Say, while in cool Ausonian shades 

Or British voids he roam'd, 
Striking by turns his native lyre, 

By turns the Daunian lute, 

And stepp'd almost in air — 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Say, little book, what furtive hand 
Thee from thy fellow books convey'd, 
What time, at the repeated suit 
Of my most learned friend, 
I sent thee forth, an honour' d traveller, 
From our great city to the source of Thames, 

Casrulean sire ! 
Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring, 
Of the Aonian choir, 
Durable as yonder spheres, 
And through the endless lapse of years 
Secure to be admired 1 

STROPHE II. 

Now what god, or demi-god, 
Britain's ancient genius moved, 
(If our afflicted land 
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth 
Of her degenerate sons) 
Shall terminate our impious feuds, 
And discipline with hallow'd voice recall ? 
Recall the muses too, 
Driven from their ancient seats 
In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore, 
And, with keen Phoebean shafts 
Piercing the unseemly birds, 
Whose talons menace us, 
Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar ? 

ANTISTROPHE. 

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd f 
Whether by treachery lost, 
Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, 
From all thy kindred books, 
To some dark cell or cave forlorn, 

Where thou endurest, perhaps, 
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand. 
Be comforted — 
For lo ! again the splendid hope appears 

That thou mayst yet escape 
The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings 
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! 



2H 



182 COWPER S POEMS. 



STROPHE III. 

Since Rouse desires thee, and complain* 
That, though by promise his, 
Thou yet appear'st not in thy place 
Among the literary noble stores 

Given to his care, 
But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete. 
He, therefore, guardian vigilant 
Of that unperishing wealth, 
Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge, 
Where he intends a richer treasure far 
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son 
Illustrious, of the fair Greiisa bom) 
In the resplendent temple of his god, 
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, 
The muses' favourite haunt ; 
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, 

Dearer to him 
Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill ! 

Exulting go, 
Since now a splendid lot is also thine, 
And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; 
For there thou shalt be read 
With authors of exalted note, 
The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome, 

EPODE. 

Ye, then, my works, no longer vain, 

And worthless deem'd by me ! 
Whate'er this sterile genius has produced* 
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent, 
An unmolested happy home, 
Gfift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend, 
Where never flippant tongue profane 
Shall entrance find, 
And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude 
Shall babble far remote. 
Perhaps some future distant age, 
Less tinged with prejudice, and better taught, 
Shall f arnish minds of power 
To judge more equally. 
Then, malice silenced in the tomb, 
Cooler heads and sounder hearts, 
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 



483 



TRANSLATIONS OF THE ITALIAN POEMS. 



SONNET. 



Rair Lady ! whose harmonious name the Rhine, 
Through all his grassy vale, delights to bear, 
Base were indeed the wretch who could forbear 

To love a spirit elegant as thine, 

That manifests a sweetness all divine, 
Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, 
And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, 

Tempering thy virtues to a softer shine. 

When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay 
Such strains as might the senseless forest move, 

Ah then — turn each his eyes and ears away, 
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! 

Grace can alone preserve him ere the dart 

Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 



SONNET. 



As on a hill-top rude, when closing day 
Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair 
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, 

Borne from its native genial airs away, 

That scarcely can its tender bud display, 
So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare, 
Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there. 

While thus, sweetly scornful ! I essay 
Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown, 
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; 

- So Love has will'd, and ofttimes, Love has shown, 
That what he wills, he never wills in vain — 

that this hard and sterile breast may be 

To Him, who plants from heaven, a soil as free ! 



CANZONE. 



They mock my toil — the nymphs and amorous swains - 
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry, 
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st ? 
How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains ? 
Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, 
And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die ] 
Then with pretence of admiration high— 
The other shores expect, and other tides, 
Rivers, on whose grassy sides 
Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind 
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; 
Why then this burden, better far declined] 

Speak, muse ! for me — the fair one said, who guides 
My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, 
" This is the language in which Love delights." 



484 COWPERS POEMS. 



SONNET, TO CHARLES DEODATI. 

Charles— and I say it wondering — thou must know 
That I, who once assumed a scornful air 
And scoff d at Love, am fallen in his snare, 
(Full many an upright man has fallen so :) 
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 
Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare 
The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair : 
A mien majestic, with dark brows that show 
The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; 
Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, 
And song, whose fascinating power might bind, 
And from her sphere draw down the labouring moon ; 
With such fire darting eyes, that, should I fill 
My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. 



SONNET. 



Lady ! It cannot be but that thine eyes 
Must be my sun, such radiance they display, 
And strike me e'en as Phoebus him whose way 
Through horrid Libya's sandy desert lies. 
Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 
Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they, 
New as to me they are, I cannot say, 
But deem them, in the lover's language — sighs. 
Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals, 
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 
To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals. 
While others to my tearful eyes ascend, 
Whence my sad nights in showers are ever drown'd, 
Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. 



SONNET. 



Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground, 
Uncertain whither from myself to fly ; 
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh 
Let me devote my heart which I have found 
By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, 
Grood, and addicted to conceptions high : 
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky g 
It rests in adamant self- wrapt around, 
As safe from envy as from outrage rude, 
From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse. 
As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude, 
Of the resounding lyre and every muse. 
Weak you will find it in one only part, 
Now pierced by love's immedicable dart. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 



435 



TRANSLATIONS 

FROM 

VIRGIL, OVID, HORACE, AND HOMER. 



THE SALAD, BY VIRGIL. 

The winter night now well nigh worn away, 
The wakeful cock proclaim'd approaching day, 
When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm 
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, 
Yawn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and anxions to provide 
Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied, 
By slow degrees his tatter'd bed forsook, 
And, poking in the dark, explored the nooK 
Where embers slept with ashes heap'd around, 
And with burnt fingers' ends the treasure found. 

It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose, 
Sure proof of latent fire some smoke arose ; 
When, trimming with a pin the incrusted tow, 
And stooping it towards the coals below, 
He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite 
The lingering flame, and gains at length a light. 
With prudent heed he spreads his hand before 
The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door. 
Small was his stock, but taking for the day 
A measured stint of twice eight pounds away, 
With these his mill he seeks. A shelf at hand, 
Fix'd in the wall, affords his lamp a stand: 
Then baring both his arms — a sleeveless coat 
He girds, the rough exuviae of a goat: 
And with a rubber, for that use design'd, 
Cleansing his mill within — begins to grind ; 
Each hand has its employ ; labouring amain, 
This turns the winch, while that supplies the grain. 
The stone, revolving rapidly, now glows, 
And the braised corn a mealy current flows; 
While he, to make his heavy labour light, 
Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right; 
And chants with rudest accent, to beguile 
His ceaseless toil, as rude a strain the while. 
And now, " Dame Cybale, come forth!" he cries; 
But Cybale, still slumbering, nought replies. 

From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid, 
Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd. 
With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin, 
Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin, 
Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet, 
Chapp'd into chinks, and parch'd with solar heat, 
Such, summon'd oft, she came; at his command 
Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd, 
And made in haste her simmering skillet steam, 
Replenish'd newly from the neighbouring stream. 



<86 



C0WPER S POEMS. 



The labours of the mill perform'd, a sieve 
The mingled flour and bran must next receive, 
Which shaken oft shoots Ceres through refined, 
And better dress'd, her husks all left behind. 
This done, at once his future plain repast 
Unleaven'd on a shaven board he cast, 
With tepid lymph first largely soak'd it all, 
Then gather 'd it with both hands to a ball. 
And spreading it again with both hands wide, 
With sprinkled salt the stiffened mass supplied ; 
At length the stubborn substance, duly wrought, 
Takes from his palms irnpress'd the shape it ought, 
Becomes an orb— and quarter'd into shares, 
The faithful mark of just division bears, 
Last, on his. hearth it finds convenient space, 
For Cybale before had swept the place, 
And there, with tiles and embers overspread, 
She leaves it — reeking in its sultry bed. 

Nor Simulus, while Vulcan thus alone 
His part perform'd, proves heedless of his own, 
But sedulous, not merely to subdue 
His hunger, but to please his palate too, 
Prepares more savoury food. His chimney side 
Could boast no gammon, salted well and dried 
And hook'd behind him ; but sufficient store 
Of bundled anise and a cheese it bore ; 
A broad round cheese, which, through its centre strung 
With a tough broom twig, in the corner hung ; 
The prudent hero, therefore, with address 
And quick despatch, now seeks another mess. 

Close to his cottage lay a garden ground, 
With reeds and osiers sparely girt around: 
Small was the spot, but liberal to produce, 
Nor wanted aught to serve a peasant's use ; 
And sometimes e'en the rich would borrow thence, 
Although its tillage was its sole expense. 
For oft as from his toils abroad he ceased, 
Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast, 
His debt of culture here he duly paid, 
And only left the plough to wield the spade. 
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs, 
To drill the ground and cover close the seeds ; 
And could with ease compel the wanton rill 
To turn and wind obedient to his will. 
There flourish'd star-wort, and the branching beet, 
The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, 
The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind, 
The noxious poppy — quencher of the mind! 
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board, 
The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd; 
But these (for none his appetite controll'd 
With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold ; 
With broom twigs neatly bound, each kind apart, 
He bore them ever to the public mart : 






TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 



487 



Whence laden still, but with a lighter load, 
Of cash well earn'd he took his homeward road, 
Expending seldom, ere he quitted Koine, 
His gains in flesh-meat for a feast at home. 
There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red, 
Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf, he fed: 
On scallions sliced, or, with a sensual gust, 
On rockets — foul provocatives of lust ! 
Nor even shunn'd with smarting gums to press 
Nasturtium — pungent face-distorting mess ! 

Some such regale now also in his thought, 
With hasty steps his garden ground he sought ; 
There, delving with his hands, he first displaced 
Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast ; 
The tender tops of parsley next he culls, 
Then the old rue bush shudders as he pulls; 
And coriander last to these succeeds, 
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seedi?. 

Placed near his sprightly fire, he now demands 
The mortar at his sable servant's hands ; 
When, stripping all his garlick first, he tore 
The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor.. 
Then cast away with like contempt the skin, 
Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. 
These, searched, and perfect found, he one by one 
Rinsed, and disposed within the hollow stone. 
Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, 
With his injected herbs he cover'd these, 
And, tucking with his left his tunic tight, 
And seizing fast the pestle with his right, 
The garlick bruising first he soon express'd, 
And mix'd the various juices of the rest. 
He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below, 
Lost in each other, their own powers forego, 
And with the cheese in compound, to the sight 
Nor wholly green appear nor wholly white. 
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent, 
He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent ; 
Or, with wry faces, wiping as he spoke 
The trickling tears, cried, " Vengeance on the smoke!* 
The work proceeds; not roughly turns he now> 
The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow ; 
With cautious hand, that grudges what it spilb, 
Some drops of olive oil he next instils, 
Then vinegar with caution scarcely less, 
And gathering to a ball the medley mess, 
Last, with two fingers frugally applied, 
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortal's side. 
And, thus complete in figure and in kind, 
Obtains at length the salad he design'd. 

And now black Cybale before him stands, 
The cake drawn newly glowing in her hanJ: 7 
He glad receives it, chasing far away 
All fears of famine for the passing day, 



cowper's poems. 



His legs enclosed in buskins, and his head 
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led 
And yoked his steers, a dull obedient pair, 
Then drove afield, and plunged the pointed sh;re. 

Jrjie, 1799. 



TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL. 

JENEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18. 

Thus Italy was moved— nor did the chief 
iEneas in his mind less tumult feel. 
On every side his anxious thought he turns, 
Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to choose. 
And as a cistern that in brim of brass 
Confines the crystal.flood, if chance the sun 
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb, 
The quivering light now flashes on the walls, 
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof: 
Such were the wavering motions of his mind. 
'Twas night — and weary nature sunk to rest. 
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more. 
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp 
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink, 
The father of his country sought repose. 
When lo ! among the spreading poplar boughs, 
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose 
The god of Tiber : clear transparent gauze 
Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd: 
And these his gracious words to soothe his care : 

" Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home again, 
Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy, 
Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains 
Expected thee ; behold thy fix'd abode. 
Fear not the threats of war, the storm is past, 
The gods appeased. For proof that what thou hear'st 
Is no vain forgery or delusive dream, 
Beneath the grove that borders my green bank, 
A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young, 
Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the place ; 
For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils : 
There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls 
Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand. 
Thus shall it be — now listen, while I teach 
The means to accomplish these events at hand. 
The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung, 
Following Evander's standard and his fate, 
High on these mountains, a well chosen spot, 
Have built a city, for their grandsire's sake 
Named Pallanteum. These perpetual war 
Wage with the Latians : join'd in faithful league 
And arms confederate, add them to your camp. 
Myself between my winding banks will speed 
Your well oar'd barks to stem the opposing tide, 
Rise, goddess born, arise : and with the first 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 489 



Declining stars seek Juno m thy prayer. 

And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vcws 

When conquest crowns thee, then remember me. 

I am the Tiber, whose cserulean stream 

Heaven favours ; I with copious flood divide 

These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful niiads. 

My mansion, this — and lofty cities crown 

My fountain head.'"' — He spoke and sought the deep, 

And plunged his form beneath the closing flood. 

iEneas at the morning dawn awoke, 

And rising, with uplifted eye beheld 

The orient sun, then dipp'd his palms, and scoop'd 

The brimming stream, and thus address'd the skies : 

" Ye nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, who feed the source 

Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood, 

Tiber, hear, accept me, and afford, 

At length afford, a shelter from my woes. 

Where'er in sacred cavern under ground 

Thy waters sleep, where'er they spring to light, 

Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me, 

My offerings and my vows shall wait thee still : 

Great horned Father of Hesperian floods, 

Be gracious now, and ratify thy word." 

He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet, 

Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in arms. 

When lo ! astonishing and pleasing sight, 

The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood, 

Lay stretch'd upon the bank, beneath the grove. 

To thee, the pious Prince, Juno, to thee 

Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed. 

That live-long night old Tiber smooth'd his flood, 

And so restrain'd it that it seem'd to stand 

Motionless as a pool, or silent lake, 

That not a billow might resist their oars. 

With cheerful sound of exhortation soon 

Their voyage they begin ; the pitchy keel 

Slides through the gentle deep, the quiet stream 

Admires the unwonted burden that it bears, 

Well polish'd arms, and vessels painted gay. 

Beneath the shade of various trees, between 

The umbrageous branches of the spreading groves^ 

They cut their liquid way, nor day nor night 

They slack their course, unwinding as they go 

The long meanders of the peaceful tide. 

The glowing sun was in meridian height, 
When from afar they saw the humble walls, 
And the few scatter'd cottages, which now 
The Roman power has equall'd with the clouds ; 
But such was then Evander's scant domain. 
They steer to shore, and hasten to the town. 

It chanced the Arcadian monarch on that day, 
Before the walls, beneath a shady grove, 
Was celebrating high, in solemn feast, 
Alcides and his tutelary gods. 



690 



cowper's poems. 



Pallas, his son, was there, and there the chief 

Of all his youth ; with these, a worthy tribe, 

His poor "but venerable senate, burnt 

Sweet incense, and their altars smoked with blood. 

Soon as they saw the towering masts approach, 

Sliding between the trees, while the crew rest 

Upon their silent oars, amazed they rose, 

Not without fear, and all forsook the feast. 

But Pallas undismay'd, his javelin seized, 

BushM to the bank, and from a rising ground 

Forbade them to disturb the sacred rites. 

" Ye stranger youth ! What prompts you to explore 

This untried way 1 and whither do ye steer ] 

"Whence, and who are ye ] Bring ye peace or war ] " 

iEneas from his lofty deck holds forth 

The peaceful olive branch, and thus replies : 

" Trojans and enemies to the Latian state, 

"Whom they with unprovoked hostilities 

Have driven away, thou seest. We seek Evander— • 

Say this — and say beside, the Trojan chiefs 

Are come, and seek his friendship and his aid." 

Pallas with wonder heard that awful name, 

And " Whosoe'er thou art," he cried, " come forth i 

Bear thine own tidings to my father's ear, 

And be a welcome guest beneath our roof." 

He said, and press' d the stranger to his breast ; 

Then led him from the river to the grove, 

Where, courteous, thus iEneas greets the king : 

" Best of the Grecian race, to whom I bow ' 

(So wills my fortune) suppliant, and stretch forth 

In sign of amity this peaceful branch, 

I fear'd thee not, although I knew thee well 

A Grecian leader, born in Arcady, 

And kinsman of the Atridse. Me my virtue, 

That means no wrong to thee — the Oracles, 

Our kindred families allied of old, 

And thy renown diffused through every land, 

Have all conspired to bind in friendship to thee. 

And send me not unwilling to thy shores. 

Dardanus, author of the Trojan state 

(So say the Greeks), was fair Electra's son j 

Electra boasted Atlas for her sire, 

Whose shoulders high sustain the ethereal Qvhz* 

Your sire is Mercury, whom Maia bore, 

Sweet Maia, on Cyllene's hoary top. 

Her, if we credit* aught tradition old, 

Atlas of yore, the self-same Atlas, claim'd 

His daughter. Thus united close in blood, 

Thy race and ours one common sire confess. 

With these credentials fraught, I would not send 

Ambassadors with artf ol phrase to sound 

And win thee by degrees — but came myself— 

Me, therefore, me thou seest ; my life the stake 

'Tis I, iEneas, who implore thine aid. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 491 



Should Daunia, that now aims the blow at thee, 
Prevail to conquer us, nought then, they think, 
Will hinder, but Hesperia must be theirs, 
All theirs, from the upper to the nether sea. 
Take then our friendship, and return us thine. 
We too have courage, we have noble minds, 
And youth well tried, and exercised in arms." 

Thus spoke iEneas — He with fix'd regard 
Surveyed him speaking, features, form, and mien. 
Then briefly thus — " Thou noblest of thy name, 
How gladly do I take thee to my heart, 
How gladly thus confess thee for a friend ! 
In thee I trace Anchises ; his thy speech, 
Thy voice, thy countenance. For I well remembe? 
Many a day since, when Priam journey'd forth 
To Salamis, to see the land where dwelt 
Hesione, his sister, he push'd^on 
E'en to Arcadia's frozen bounds. Twas then 
The bloom of youth was glowing on my cheek ; 
Much I admired the Trojan chiefs, and much 
Their king, the son of great Laomedon. 
But most Anchises, towering o'er them all. 
A youthful longing seized me to accost 
The hero, and embrace him ; I drew near, 
And gladly led him to the walls of Pheneu?. 
Departing, he distinguish'd me with gifts, 
A costly quiver stored with Lycian darts, 
A robe inwove with gold, with gold imboss'd 
Two bridles, those which Pallas uses now. 
The friendly league thou hast solicited 
I give thee, therefore, and to-morrow all 
My chosen youth shall wait on your return. 
Meanwhile, since thus in friendship ye are come, 
Rejoice with us, and join to celebrate 
These annual rites, which may not be delay'd, 
And be at once familiar at our board." 

lie said, and bade replace the feast removed ; 
Himself upon a grassy bank disposed 
The crew ; but for iEneas order'd forth 
A couch spread with a lion's tawny shag, 
And bade him share the honours of his throne. 
The appointed youth with glad alacrity 
Assist the labouring priest to load the board 
With roasted entrails of the slaughter'd beeves, 
Well kneaded bread and mantling bowls. Well pleaded, 
iEneas and the Trojan youth regale 
On the huge length of a well pastured chine. 

Hunger appeased, and tables all despatch'd, 
Thus spake Evander : "Superstition here, 
In this old solemn feasting, has no part. 
No, Trcjan friend, from utmost danger saved, 
In gratitude this worship we renew. 
Behold that rock which nods above the vale, 
Those bulks of broken scone dispersed around 



COWPER S PuKHS. 



How desolate the shattered cave appears, 
And what a ruin spreads the incumber 'd plain. 
Within this pile, but far within, was once 
The den of Cacus ; dire his hateful form 
That shunn'd the day, half monster and half man. 
Bloody newly shed stream'd ever on the ground 
Smoking, and many a visage pale and wan 
Nail'd at his gate, hung hideous to the sight. 
Vulcan begot the brute : vast was his size, 
And from his throat he belch 'd his father's fires. 
But the day came that brought us what we wish'd, 
The assistance and the presence of a God. 
Flush'd with his victory, and the spoils he won 
From triple-form'd Gferyon lately slain, 
The great avenger,. Hercules, appear'd. 
Hither he drove his stately bulls, and pour'd 
His herds along the vale. But the sly thief 
Cacus, that nothing might escape his hand 
Of villany or fraud, drove from the stalls 
Four of the lordliest of his bulls, and four 
The fairest of his heifers ; by the tail 
He dragg'd them to his den, that, there conceal'd, 
No footsteps might betray the dark abode. 
And now, his herd with provender sufficed, 
Alcides would be gone : they as they went 
Still bellowing loud, made the deep echoing wooda 
And distant hills resound : when, hark ! one ox, 
Imprison'd close within the vast recess, 
Lows in return, and frustrates all his hope. 
Then fury seized Alcides, and his breast 
With indignation heaved : grasping his club 
Of knotted oak swift to the mountain top 
He ran, he flew. Then first was Cacus seen 
To tremble, and his eyes bespoke his fears. 
Swift as an eastern blast, he sought his den, 
And dread, increasing, winged him as he went. 
Drawn up in iron slings above the gate, 
A rock was hung enormous. Such his haste, 
He burst the chains, and dropp'd it at the door, 
Then grappled it with iron work within 
Of bolts and bars by Vulcan's art contrived. 
Scarce was he fast, when, panting for revenge, 
Came Hercules ; he gnash'd his teeth with rage, 
And quick as lightning glanced his eyes around 
In quest of entrance. Fiery red and stung 
With indignation, thrice he wheeled his course 
About the mountain ; thrice, but thrice in vain 
He strove to force the quarry at the gate, 
And thrice sat down o'erwearied in the vale. 
There stood a pointed rock, abrupt and rude, 
That high o'erlook'd the rest, close at the back 
Of the fell monster's den, where birds obscene 
Of ominous note resorted, choughs and daws. 
This, as it lean'd obliquely to the left, 



^_ 



TRANSLATIONS FROM VIRGIL. 493 

Threatening the stream below, he from the right 

Push'd with his utmost strength, and to and fro 

He shook the mass, loosening its lowest base ; 

Then shoved it from its seat ; down fell the pile ; 

Sky thunder'd at the fall ; the banks give way, 

The affrighted stream flows upward to his source, 

Behold the kennel of the brute exposed, 

The gloomy vault laid open. So, if chance 

Earth yawning to the centre should disclose 

The mansions, the pale mansions of the dead, 

Loathed by the gods, such would the gulf appear, 

And the ghosts tremble at the sight of day. 

The monster braying with unusual din 

Within his hollow lair, and sore amazed 

To see such sudden inroads of the light, 

Alcides press'd him close with what at hand 

Lay readiest, stumps of trees, and fragments huge 

Of millstone size. He (for escape was none), 

Wondrous to tell ! forth from his gorge discharged 

A smoky cloud that darken'd all the den ; 

Wreath after wreath he vomited amain, 

The smothering vapour mix'd with fiery sparks. 

No sight could penetrate the veil obscure. 

The hero, more provoked, endured not this, 

But with a headlong leap he rusk'd to where 

The thickest cloud enveloped his abode. 

There grasp'd he Cacus, spite of all his fires, 

Till, crush'd within his arms, the monster shows 

His bloodless throat, now dry with panting hard, 

And his press'd eyeballs start. Soon he tears down 

The barricade of rock, the dark abyss 

Lies open ; and the imprison'd bulls, the theft 

He had with oaths denied, are brought to light ; 

By the heels the miscreant carcass is dragg'd forth, 

His face, his eyes, all terrible, his breast 

Beset with bristles, and his sooty jaws 

Are view'd with wonder never to be cloy'd. 

Hence the celebrity thou seest, and hence, 

This festal day Potitius first enjoin'd 

Posterity : these solemn rites he first. 

With those who bear the great Pinarian name, 

To Hercules devoted ; in the grove 

This altar built, deem'd sacred in the highest 

By us, and sacred ever to be deem'd. 

Come, then, my friends, and bind your youthful brows 

In praise of such deliverance, and hold forth 

The brimming cup ; your deities and ours 

Are now the same, then drink and freely too." 

So saying, he twisted round his reverend locks 
A variegated poplar wreath, and fill'd 
His right hand with a consecrated bowl. 
At once all pour libations on the board, 
All offer prayer. And now, the radiant sphere 
Of day descending, eventide drew near. 



494 



cowper's POEMS. 



When first Potitius with the priests advanced, 
Begirt with skins, and torches in their hands. 
High piled with meats of savoury taste, they ranged 
The chargers, and renew'd the grateful feast. 
Then came the Salii, crown'd with poplar too, 
Circling the blazing altars ; here the youth 
Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard 
The reverend seers responsive ; praise they sung, 
Much praise in honour of Alcides' deeds ; 
How first with infant gripe two serpents huge 
He strangled, sent from Juno ; next they sung, 
How Troja and (Echalia he destroy'd, 
Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task 
Beneath Eurystheus (so his stepdame wilFd) 
Achieved victorious, Thou, the cloud-born pair, 
Hylaeus fierce and Pholus, monstrous twins, 
Thou slew'st the minotaur, the plague of Crete, 
And the vast lion of the Nemean rock, 
Thee h ellwand Cerberus, hell's porter, fear'd, 
Stretch'd in his den upon his half-gnaw'd bones. 
Thee no abhorred form, not e'en the vast 
Typhosus could appal, though clad in arms. 
Hail, true-born son of Jove, among the gods 
At length enrolTd, nor least illustrious thou, 
Haste thee propitious, and approve our songs. 
Thus hymn'd the chorus ; above all they sing 
The cave of Cacus, and the flames he breathed. 
The whole grove echoes, and the hills rebound. 
The rites perform'd, all hasten to the town. 
The king, bending with age, held as he went 
iEneas and his Pallas by the hand, 
With much variety of pleasing talk 
Shortening the way. iEneas, with a smile, 
Looks round him, charm'd with the delightful scene. 
And many a question asks, and much he learns 
Of heroes far renown'd in ancient times. 
Then spake Evander. These extensive groves, 
Were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs, 
Produced beneath their shades, and a rude race 
Of men, the progeny uncouth of elms 
And knotted oaks. They no refinement knew 
Of laws or manners civilized, to yoke 
The steer, with forecast provident to store 
The hoarded grain, or manage what they had, 
But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs, 
Or fed voracious on their hunted prey. 
An ejdle from Olympus, and expell'd 
His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove, 
First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew 
This herd of men untractable and fierce, 
And gave them laws : and call'd his hiding-place, 
This growth of forests, Latium. Such the peace 
His land possess'd, the golden age was then, 
So famed 'in story ; till by slow degrees 



TRANSLATIONS FROM YlRGIL. 495 



Far other times, and of far different hue, 
Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood. 
Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts 
From Sicily, and Latium often changed 
Her master and her name. At length arose 
Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form 
"Was chief ; and we Italians since have calFd 
The river by his name ; thus Albula 
(So was the country call'd in ancient days) 
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land 
An exile, through the dangerous ocean driven, 
Resistless fortune and relentless fate 
Placed where thou seest me. Phoebus, and 
The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care 
Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here. 

* * * *r * * 

He said, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock, 

And the rude spot where now the Capitol 

Stands all magnificent and bright with gold, 

Then overgrown with thorns. And yet e'en then 

The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe ; 

The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear. 

This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top 

Of this fair hill, some deity, we know, 

Inhabits, but what deity we doubt. 

The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself, 

That they have often seen him, shaking here 

His gloomy iEgis, while the thunder storms 

Came rolling' all around him. Turn thine eyes, 

Behold that ruin ; those dismantled walls, 

Where once two towns, Janiculum , 

By Janus this, and that by Saturn built, 

Saturnia. Such discourse brought them beneath 

The roof of poor Evander ; thence they saw, 

Where now the proud and stately forum stands, 

The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field. 

Soon as he enter'd — Hercules, he said, 

Victorious Hercules, on his threshold trod, 

These walls contain'd him, humble as they are. 

Dare to despise magnificence, my friend, 

Prove thy divine descent by worth divine, 

Nor view with haughty scorn this mean abode. 

So saying, he led JEneas by the hand, 

And placed him on a cushion stuff'd with leaTes, 

Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear. 
*• * * * * * * 

While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was empioy'd, 
Awaken'd by the gentle dawn of day, 
And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves 
Of his low mansion, old Evander rose. 
His tunic, and the sandals on his feet, 
And hi s g°°d sword well girded to his side, 
A panther's skin dependent from his left, 
And over n ^ s right shoulder thrown aslant. 



496 



COWPERS POEMS. 



Thus was he clad. Two mastiffs follow'd him. 
His whole retinue and his nightly guard. 



OVID, TRIST. BOOK V. ELEG. XII. 

Scribis, ut oblectem. 

You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours, 

And save from withering my poetic powers ; 

Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow 

From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe ; 

Restless amidst unceasing tempests tost," 

Whoever has cause for sorrow, I have mosb. 

Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain, 

Or childless Niobe from tears refrain, 

Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train ? 

Does grief or study most befit the mind 

To this remote, this barbarous nook confined ? 

Could you impart to my unshaken breast 

The fortitude by Socrates possess'd, 

Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine, 

For what is human strength to wrath divine ! 

Wise as he was, and Heaven pronounced him so, 

My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low. 

Could I forget my country, thee and all, 

And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall, 

Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein, 

While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain. 

Add that the fatal rust of long disuse 

Unfits me for the service of the muse. 

Thistles and weeds are all we can expect 

From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect ; 

Unexercised, and to his stall confined, 

The fleetest racer would be left behind ; 

The best built bark that cleaves the watery way, 

Laid useless by, would moulder and decay— 

No hope remains that time shall me restore, 

Mean as I was, to what I was before. 

Think how a series of desponding cares 

Benumbs the genius and its force impairs. 

How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet, 

My verse, constrain'd to move with measured fe€t r 

Reluctant and laborious limps along, 

And proves itself a wretched exile's song. 

What is it tunes the most melodious lays ? 

'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise, 

A noble thirst, and not unknown to me, 

While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea. 

But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame 1 

No, rather let the world forget my name. 

Is it because that world approved my strai3 s 

You prompt me to the same pursuit again * 

No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth excuse, 

I charge my hopeless ruin on the muse, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 497 

And, like Perillus, meet my just desert, 
The victim of my own pernicious art ; 
Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain, 
And, shipwreck 'd once, to tempt the deep agaiiL 
111 fares the bard in this unletter'd land, 
None to consult, and none to understand. 
The purest verse has no admirers here, 
Their own rude language only suits their ear. 
Rude as it is, at length familiar grown, 
I learn it, and almost unlearn my own — 
Yet to say truth, e'en here the muse disdains 
Confinement, and attempts her former strains, 
But finds the strong desire is not the power, 
And what her taste condemns the flames devour. 
A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom, 
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome ; 
But oh the cruel art, that could undo 
Its votary thus ! would that could perish too ! 



HORACE, BOOK I. ODE IX. 

Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum 
Soracte; 

Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow, 
The groves beneath their fleecy burden bow, 

The streams, congeal'd, forget to flow, 
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile 

Of fuel on the hearth ; 
Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile 

With seasonable mirth. 

This be our part — let Heaven dispose the rest ; 
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep, 
That now wage war upon the foamy deep, 

And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. 

E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may, 

When to-morpoVs pass'd away, 

We at least shall have to say, 

We have lived another day ; 
Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er. 
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more. 



HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXXVIII. 

Persicos odl, puer, apparatus. 

Boy, I hate their empty shows, 

Persian garlands I detest, 
Bring not me the late-blown rose, 

Lingering after all the rest. 
Plainer myrtle pleases me, 

Thus outstretch'd beneath my vine ; 
Myrtle more becoming thee, 

Waiting with thy master's wine, 



2i 



ivS 



CWPER'G POEMS. 



HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXXVIII. 

Boy ! I detest all Persian fopperies, 
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting ; 
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee, 

Where latest roses linger. 
Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily) 
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage 
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking 

Beneath my vine's cool shelter. 



HORACE, BOOK II. ODE X. 

Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach, 
So shalt thou live beyond the reach 

Of adverse fortune's power ; 
Not always tempt the distant deep, 
Nor always timorously creep 

Along the treacherous shore. 

He that holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 

The little and the great, 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's doer* 

Embittering all his state. 

The tallest pines feel most the power 
Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower 

Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
The bolts that spare the mountain's side 
His cloudcapt eminence divide, 

And spread the ruin round. 

The well-inform'd philosopher, 
Rejoices with a wholesome fear, 

And hopes in spite of pain ; 
If Winter bellow from the north, 
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forilk 

And Nature laughs again. 

What if thine heaven be overcast, 
The dark appearance will not last ; 

Expect a brighter sky. 
The God that strings the silver boir 
Awakes sometimes the muses too, 

And lays his arrows by. 

If hindrances obstruct thy way, 
Thy magnanimity display, 

And let thy strength be seen : 
But ! if Fortune fill thy sail 
With more than a propitious gale. 
Take half thy canvas in. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 499 



A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. 

And is this all ! Can Reason do no more 

Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore ? 

Sweet moralist ! afloat on life's rough sea, 

The Christian has an art unknown to thee : 

He holds no parley with unmanly fears; 

Where Duty bids he confidently steers, 

Faces a thousand dangers at her call, 

And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 



HORACE, BOOK II. ODE XVI. 
Otium Diyos rogat in patent!. 

Ease is the weary merchant's prayer, 
Who ploughs by night the JEgean flood, 

When neither moon nor stars appear, 
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. 

For ease the Mede with quiver graced, 
For ease the Thracian hero sighs, 

Delightful ease all pant to taste, 
A blessing which no treasure buys. 

For neither gold can lull to rest, 
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off 

The tumults of a troubled breast, 
The cares that haunt a gilded roof. 

Happy the man whose table shows 
A few clean ounces of old plate, 

No fear intrudes on his repose, 
No sordid wishes to be great. 

Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay. 

Ah, why forsake our native home ] 
To distant climates speed away ; 

For self sticks close where'er we roam. 

Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes 
The well-rigg'd ship, the warlike steed r 

Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes — 
Not the wind flies with half her speed. 

From anxious fears of f ature ill 
G-uard well the cheerful, happy now ; 

Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile, 
No blessing is unmix'd below. 

Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, 
Thy numerous flocks around thee grase g 

And the best purple Tyre affords 
Thy robe magnificent displays. 

On me indulgent Heaven bestow'd 
A rural mansion, neat and small ; 

This lyre ;— and as for yonder crowd. 
The happiness to hate them all. 



500 



CGWPEIt's POEMS. 



THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 

A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM ROMB 
TO BRUNDUSIUM. 

'Twas a long journey lay before us, 
When I and honest Heliodorus, 
Who far in point of rhetoric 
Surpasses every living Greek, 
Each leaving our respective home, 
Together sallied forth from Rome. 

First at Aricia we alight, 
And there refresh, and pass the night, 
Our entertainment rather coarse 
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. 
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair 
To Appii Forum we repair. 
But as this road is well supplied 
(Temptation strong !) on either side 
With inns commodious, snug, and warm, 
We split the journey, and perform 
In two days' time what's often done 
By brisker travellers in one. 
Here, rather choosing not to sup 
Than with bad water mix my cup, 
After a warm debate in spite 
Of a provoking appetite, 
I sturdily resolved at last 
To balk it, and pronounce a fast, 
And in a moody humour wait, 
While my less dainty comrades bait. 

Now o'er the spangled hemisphere 
Diffused the starry train appear, 
When there arose a desperate brawl ; 
The slaves and bargemen, one and all 
Rending their throats (have mercy on us !) 
As if they were resolved to stun us. 
" Steer the barge this way to the shore ; 
I tell you we'll admit no more ; 
Plague ! will you never be content?" 
Thus a whole hour at least is spent, 
While they receive the several fares, 
And kick the mule into his gears. 
Happy, these difficulties past, 
Could we have fallen asleep at last ! 
But, what with humming, croaking, biting. 
Gfnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting, 
These tuneful natives of the lake 
Conspired to keep us broad awake. 
Besides, to make the concert full, 
Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull, 
The bargeman and a passenger, 
Each in his turn, essay/d an air 
In honour of his absent fair. 
At length the passenger, opprest 
With wine, left off, and snored the rest. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. gft| 

The weary bargeman too gave o'er, * 
And, hearing his companion snore, 
Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, 
Turn'd out his mule to graze at large, 
And slept forgetful of his charge. 
And now the sun o'er eastern hill 
Discover'd that our barge stood still ; 
When one, whose anger vex'd him sore, 
With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore : 
Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack 
Assail 3 the mule and driver's back. 

Then slowly moving on with pain, 
At ten Feronia's stream we gain, 
And in her pure and glassy wave 
Our hands and faces gladly lave. 
Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height 
We reach, with stony quarries white. 
While here, as was agreed, we wait, 
Till, charged with business of the state, 
Maecenas and Cocceius come, 
The messengers of peace from Rome. 
My eyes, by watery humours blear 
And sore, I with black balsam smear. 
At length they join us, and with them 
Our worthy friend Fonteius came ; 
A man of such complete desert, 
Antony loved him at his heart. 
At Fundi we refused to bait, 
And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, 
A praetor now, a scribe before, 
The purple border'd robe he wore, 
His slave the smoking censer bore. 
Tired, at Muraena's we repose, 
At Formia sup at Capito's. 

With smiles the rising morn we greet, 
At Sinuessa pleased to meet 
With Plotius, Yarius, and the bard 
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. 
The world no purer spirits knows ; 
For none my heart more warmly glows. 
! what embraces we bestow'd, 
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd ! 
Sure, while my sense is sound and clear, 
Long as I live, I shall prefer 
A gay, good-natured, easy friend 
To every blessing heaven can send. 
At a small village, the next night, 
Near the Yuiturnus we alight ; 
Where, as employ'd on state affairs, 
We were supplied by the purveyors, 
Frankly at once, and without hire, 
With food for man and horse, and fire. 
Capua next day betimes we reach, 
Where Virgil and myself, who each 



502 



cowper's poems. 



Labour'd with different maladies, 

His such a stomach, mine such eyes, 

As would not bear strong exercise, 

In drowsy mood to sleep resort ; 

Maecenas to the tennis-court. 

Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated, 

Above the Caudian tavern seated ; 

His kind and hospitable board 

With choice of wholesome food was stored. 
Now, ye Nine, inspire my lays ! 

To nobler themes my fancy raise ! 

Two combatants, who scorn to yield 

The noisy, tongue-disputed field, 

Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim 

A poet's tribute to their fame ; 

Cicirrus of true Oscian breed, 

Sarmentus, who was never freed, 

But ran away. We don't defame him ; 

His lady lives, and still may claim him. 

Thus dignified, in harder fray 

These champions their keen wit display, 

And first Sarmentus led the way. 

" Thy locks/' quoth he, " so rough and coarse, 

Look like the mane of some wild horse." 

We laugh ; Cicirrus undismay'd — 

" Have at you ! " cries, and shakes his head. 

" 'Tis well," Sarmentus says, " you've lost 

That horn your forehead once could boast ; 

Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, 

You seem to butt." A hideous scar 

Improved, 'tis true, with double grace 

The native horrors of his face. 

Well, after much jocosely said 

Of his grim front, so fiery red 

(For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er 

As usual on Campania's shore), 

" Give us," he cried, " since you're so big, 

A sample of the Cy clop's jig ! 

Your shanks methinks no buskins ask, 

Nor does your phiz require a mask." 

To this Cicirrus : " In return 

Of you, sir, now I fain would learn, 

When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave, 

Your chains you to the .Lares gave ] 

For though a scrivener's right you claim, 

Your lady's title is the same. 

But what could make you run away, 

Since, pigmy as you are, each day 

A single pound of bread would quite 

O'erpower your puny appetite V 

Thus joked the champions, while we langh'd, 

And many a cheerful bumper quaff'i 

To Beneventum next we steer ; 
Where our good host by over care 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 503 

In roasting thrushes lean as mice 

Had almost fallen a sacrifice. 

The kitchen soon was all on fire, 

And to the roof the flames aspire ; 

There might you see each man and master 

Striving, amidst this sad disaster, 

To save the supper. Then they came 

With speed enough to quench the flame. 

From hence we first at distance see 

The Apulian hills, well known to me, 

Parch'd by the sultry western blast ; 

And which we never should have past, 

Had not Trivicius by the way 

Received us at the close of day. 

But each was forced at entering here 

To pay the tribute of a tear, 

For more of smoke than fire was seen- - 

The hearth was piled with logs so green. 

From hence in chaises we were carried 

Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried 

At a small town, whose name my verse 

(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse. 

Know it you may by many a sign, 

"Water is dearer far than wine ; 

There bread is deem'd such dainty fare, 

That every prudent traveller 

His wallet loads with many a crust ,' 

For at Canusium you might just 

As well attempt to gnaw a stone 

As think to get a morsel down : 

That too with scanty streams is fed ; 

Its founder was brave Diomed. 

Good Varius (ah, that friends must part ! } 

Here left us all with aching heart. 

At Rubi we arrived that day, 

Well jaded by the length of way, 

And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter ; 

Next day no weather could be better ; 

No roads so bad ; we scarce could crawl 

Along to fishy Barium's wall. 

The Egnatians next, who by the rules 

Of common sense are knaves or fools, 

Made all our sides with laughter heave, 

Since we with them must needs believe 

That incense in their temples burns, 

And without fire to ashes turns. 

To circumcision's bigots tell 

Such tales ! for me, I know full well 

That in high heaven, unmoved by care, 

The gods eternal quiet share : 

Nor can I deem their spleen the cause, 

While fickle Nature breaks her laws. 

Brundusium last we reach : and there 

Stop short the muse and traveller. 



504 



COWPER S POEMS. 



THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 

DESCRIPTION OP AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES, 1?59» 

Sauntering along the street one day, 

On trifles musing by the way — 

Up steps a free familiar wight 

(I scarcely knew the man by sight.) 

" Carlos," he cried, " your hand, my dear ; 

, I rejoice to meet you here ! 

Pray I see you well I* " So, so ; 

E'en well enough, as times now go : 
The same good wishes, sir, to you." 
Finding he still pursued me close — 
" Sir, you have business I suppose." 
" My business, sir, is quickly done, 
'Tis but to make my merit known. 
Sir, I have read" — " learned sir, 
You and your learning I revere." 
Then sweating with anxiety, 
And sadly longing to get free, 
Grods, how I scampered, scuffled for't, 
Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, 
Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near, 
And whisper'd nothing in his ear. 

Teased with his loose unjointed chat — 
" What street is this 1 What house is that 1 n 

Harlow, how I envied thee 
Thy unabashed effrontery, 

Who darest a foe with freedom blame, 
And call a coxcomb by his name ! 
When I returned him answer none, 
Obligingly the fool ran on, 
" I see you're dismally distress'd, 
Would give the world to be released. 
But by your leave, sir, I shall still 
Stick to your skirts, do what you will. 
Pray which way does your journey tend?" 
" 0, 'tis a tedious way, my friend ; 
Across the Thames, knows where, 

1 would not trouble you so far." 

" Well, I'm at leisure to attend you." 

" Are you V thought I, " befriend you. 19 

No ass with double panniers rack'd, 
Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, 
E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull 
As I, nor half so like a fool. 
u Sir, I know little of myself 
(Proceeds tbe pert conceited elf), 
If Gray or Mason you will deem 
Than me more worthy your esteem 
Poems I write by folios 
As fast as other men write prose ; 
Then I can sing so loud, so clear, 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 505 

That Beard cannot with me compare. 
In dancing too I all surpass, 
Not Cooke can move with such a grace. " 
Here I made shift with much ado 
To interpose a word or two. — 
u Have you no parents, sir, no friends, 
Whose welfare on your own depends ? J> 
" Parents, relations, say you % No. 
They're all disposed of long ago." — 
" Happy to be no more perplex'd J 
My fate too threatens, I go next. 
Despatch me, sir, 'tis now too late, 
Alas ! to struggle with my fate ! 
Well, I'm convinc'd my time is come- - 
When young, a gi psy told my doom. 
The beldame shook her palsied head, 
As she perused my palm, and said ; 
Of poison, pestilence, and war, 
Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh, 
You have no reason to beware. 
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; 
Chiefly, my son, beware of that. 
Be sure, when you behold him, fly, 
Out of all earshot, or you die." 

To Rufus' hall we now draw near 
Where he was summon'd to appear, 
Refute the charge the plaintiff brought, 
Or suffer judgment by default. 
" For Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait 
One moment ! I'll be with you straight." 
Glad of a plausible pretence — 
" Sir, I must beg you to dispense 
With my attendance in the court. 
My legs will surely suffer for't." 
"Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile !" 
" Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. 
Besides, I have no time to spare, 
I must be going you know where." 
1 ' Well, I protest I'm doubtful now 
Whether to leave my suit or you ! " 
" Me without scruple !" I reply, 
u Me by all means, sir !" — " No, not I. 
Allons, Monsieur! " 'Twere vain, you know, 
To strive with a victorious foe. 
So I reluctantly obey, 
And follow where he leads the way. 

" You and Newcastle are so close, 
Still hand and glove, sir — I suppose." 
" Newcastle, let me tell you, sir, 
Has not his equal everywhere." 
" Well. There indeed your fortune's made, 
Faith, sir, you understand your trade. 
Would you' but give me your good word ' 
Just introduce me to my lord, 



506 



OOWPER S POEMS. 



I should serve cha/mingly by way 

Of second fiddle, as they say : 

What think you sir 1 'twere a good jest. 

'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest." 

u Sir, you mistake the matter far, 

We have no second fiddles there — 

Richer than I some folks may be ; 

More learned, but it hurts not me. 

Friends though he has of different kind, 

Each has his proper place assign'd." 

" Strange matters these alleged by you ! " 

" Strange they may be, but they are true.'* 

" Well then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever, 

Now I long ten times more than ever 

To be advanced extremely near 

One of his shining character. 

Have but the will — there wants no more, 

'Tis plain enough you have the power. 

His easy temper (that's the worst) 

He knows, and is so shy at first." — 

" But such a cavalier as you — 

, sir, you'll quickly bring him to ! " 

"Well ; If I fail in my design, 
Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. 
If by the saucy servile tribe 
Denied, what think you of a bribe? 
Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow, 
But try my luck again to-morrow; 
Never attempt to visit him 
But at the most convenient time ; 
Attend him on each levee day, 
And there my humble duty pay — 
Labour, like this, our want supplies ; 
And they must stoop who mean to rise." 

While thus he wittingly harangued, 
For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'd, 
Campley, a friend of mine, came by — 
Who knew his humour more than I ; 
We stop, salute, and — " Why so fast, 
Friend Carlos ! Whither all this haste 1" 
Fired at the thought of a reprieve, 
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve, 
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout, 
Do everything but speak plain out : _ 
While he, sad dog, from the beginning 
Determined to mistake my meaning, 
Instead of pitying my curse, 
By jeering made it ten times worse. 
" Campley, what secret (pray !) was thai 
You wanted to communicate V 
" I recollect. But 'tis no matter. 
Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter. 
E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell 
Another time, sir, just as well, 



TRANSLATION FROM HOMER. 507 

Was ever such a dismal day 1 
Unlucky cur, he steals away, 
And leaves me, half bereft of life. 
At mercy of the butcher's knife ; 
When sudden, shouting from afar. 
See his antagonist appear ! 
The bailiff seized him quick as thought, 
" Ho, Mr Scoundrel ! Are you caught] 
Sir, you are witness to the arrest." 
" Ay, marry, sir, I'll do my best." 
The mob huzzas. Away they trudge, 
Culprit and all, before the judge. 
Meanwhile I luckily enough 
(Thanks to Apollo) got clear off. 



TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM FROM HOMER. 

Pay me my price, potters ! and I will sing. 

Attend, Pallas ! and with lifted arm 

Protect their oven ; let the cups and all 

The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked 

With good success, yield them both fair renown 

And profit, whether in the market sold 

Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us. 

But, oh ye potters ! if with shameless front 

Ye falsify your promise, then I leave 

No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong. 

Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come, 

And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread, 

Omodamus, delay ! Fire seize your house, 

May neither house nor vestibule escape, 

May ye lament to see confusion mar 

And mingle the whole labour of your hands, 

And may a sound fill all your oven, such 

As of a horse grinding his provender, 

While all your pots and flagons bounce within. 

Come hither, also, daughter of the sun, 

Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs 

Poison themselves, and all that they have made ! 

Come, also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop 

Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath" 

The club of Hercules, as who escaped, 

And stamp their crockery to dust ; down fall 

Their chimney ; let them see it with their eyes, 

And howl to see the ruin of their art, 

While I rejoice ; and if a potter stoop 

To peep into his furnace, may the fire 

Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men 

Observe^ thenceforth, equity and good faith, 

Oct. 1790. 



608 



00WPER S POEMS. 



TRANSLATIONS OF GEEEK VEESES. 



FROM THE GREEK OF JULIA NU3. 

A Spartan, his companion slain, 

Alone from battle fled ; 
His mother, kindling with disdain 

That she had borne him, struck him dead ; 
For courage, and not birth alone, 
In Sparta, testifies a son ! 

ON THE SAME BY PALLADA3. 

A Spartan 'scaping from the fight, 

His mother met him in his flight, 

Upheld a falchion to his breast, 

And thus the fugitive address'd : 

" Thou canst but live to blot with shame 

Indelible thy mother's name, 

"While every breath that thou shalt draw 

Offends against thy country's law ; 

But, if thou perish by this hand, 

Myself indeed, throughout the land, 

To my dishonour, shall be known 

The mother still of such a son ; 

But Sparta will be safe and free, 

And that shall serve to comfort me." 

AN EPITAPH. 

My name — my country — what are they to thee ! 
What, whether base or proud my pedigree 1 
Perhaps I far snrpass'd all other men — 
Perhaps I fell below them all — what then 1 
Suffice it, stranger ! that thou seest a tomb — 
Thou know'st its use — it hides — no matter whom. 



ANOTHER. 

Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain 

With much hard labour in th^ service worn 1 

He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain, 

And he these olives that the vale adorn. 

He fill'd with grain the glebe ; the rills he led 

Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bowers; 

Thou, therefore, earth ! lie lightly on his head, 

His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers. 

ANOTHER. 

Painter, this likeness is too strong, 
And we shall mourn the dead too long. 



TRANSLATIONS from the greek. 



509 



ANOTHER. 

At threescore winters' end I died 
A cheerless being sole and sad ; 
The nuptial knot I never tied, 
And wish my father never had. 

BY CALLIMACHUS. 

At morn we placed on his funeral bier 

Young Melanippus ; and, at eventide, 

Unable to sustain a loss so dear, 

By her own hand his blooming sister died. 

Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race, 

Annihilated by a double blow, 

Nor son could hope nor daughter more to embrace, 

And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe. 

ON MILTIADES. 

Miltiades ! thy valour best 
(Although in every region known) 
The men of Persia can attest, 
Taught by thyself at Marathon. 

ON AN INFANT. 

Bewail not much, my parents ! me, the prey 
Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here. 
An infant in my fifth scarce finish'd year, 
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay, 
Your young Callimachus ; and if I knew 
Not many joys, my griefs were also few. 

BY HERACLIDES. 

In Cnidus born, the consort I became 
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name. 
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride, 
But bore two children at a birth, and died. 
One child I leave to solace and uphold 
Euphron hereafter, when infirrn and old. 
And one, for his remembrance' sake, I bear 
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there, 

ON TEE REED. 

I was of late a barren plant, 
Useless, insignificant, 
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, 
A native of the marshy shore ; 
But, gather'd for poetic use, 
And plunged into a sable juice, 
Of which my modicum I sip 
With narrow mouth and slender lip, 
At once, although by nature dumb, 
All eloquent I have become. 
And speaii with fluency untired, 
As if by Phoebus' self inspired. 



s;o 



OOWPER'S POEMS. 



TO HEALTH. 

Eldest born of powers divine ! 
Bless'd Hygeia ! be it mine 
To enjoy what thou canst give, 
And henceforth with thee to live : 
For in power if pleasure be, 
Wealth or numerous progeny, 
Or in amorous embrace, 
Where no spy infests the place ; 
Or in aught that Heaven bestows 
To alleviate human woes, 
When the wearied heart despairs 
Of a respite from its cares ; 
These and every true delight 
Flourish only in thy sight ; 
And the sister graces three 
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee. 
Without whom we may possess 
Much, but never happiness. 

ON INVALIDS. 

Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they 
Who look for death, and fear it every day. 

ON THE ASTROLOGERS. 

The astrologers did all alike presage 
My uncle's dying in extreme old age ; 
One only disagreed. But he was wise, 
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries. 

ON AN OLD WOMAN. 

Mycilla dyes her locks, 'tis said : 

But 'tis a foul aspersion ; 
She buys them black ; they therefore need 

No subsequent immersion. 

ON FLATTERERS. 

No mischief worthier of our fear 

In nature can be found^ 
Than friendship, in ostent sincere, 

But hollow and unsound. 
For lull'd into a dangerous dream 

We close infold a foe, 
Who strikes, when most secure we seem, 

The inevitable blow. 

ON A TRUE FRIEND. 

Hast thou a friend] thou hast indeed 

A rich and large supply, 
Treasure to serve your every need, 

Well managed, till you die. 



TRANSLATIONS PROM THE GREEK. 



613 



ON THE SWALLOW. 

Attio maid ! "with honey fed, 

Bear'st thou to thy callow brood 

Yonder locust from the mead, 
Destined their delicious food 1 

Ye have kindred voices clear, 

Ye alike unfold the wing, 
Migrate hither, sojourn here, 

Both attendant on the spring ! 

Ah, for pity drop the prize ; 

Let it not with truth be said 
That a songster gasps and dies, 

That a songster may be fed. 

ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH. 

Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes 

Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour, 
Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the means; 

And nought when old enjoy'd, denied the power. 

ON A BATH, BY PLATO. 

Did Cytherea to the skies 

From this pellucid lymph arise ] 

Or was it Cytherea's touch, 

When bathing here, that made it such 1 

ON A FOWLER, BY ISIDORUS. 

With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air, 
. Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty fare. 
No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss, 
Nor luxury knew, save liberty, nor bliss. 
Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs 
His seeds bequeath'd, his birdlime, and his snares. 



ON A GOOD MAN. 

Traveller, regret not me ; for thou shalt find 

Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, 
Who, dying, children's children left behind, 

And with one wife lived many a year in peace : 
Three virtuous youths espoused my daughters three, 

And oft their infants in my bosom lay, 
Nor saw I one of all derived from me, 

Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away. 
Their duteous hands, my funeral rites bestow'd, 

And me, by blameless manners fitted well 
To seek it, sent to the serene abode 

Where shades of pica* men for ever dwell, 



5l2 



COWPER S POEMS. 



ON A MISER. 

They call tliee rich— I deem thee poor, 
Since, if thou darest not use thy store, 
But savest it only for thine heirs, 
The treasure is not thine, but theirs. 

ANOTHER. 

A miser traversing his house, 

Espied, unusual there, a mouse, 

And thus his uninvited guest 

Briskly inquisitive address'd : 

" Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it 

I owe this unexpected visit ] " 

The mouse her host obliquely eyed, 

And, smiling, pleasantly replied : 

u Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard I 

I come to lodge, and not to board. " 

ANOTHER. 

Art thou some individual of a kind 

Long-lived by nature as the rook or hind ? 

Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be sucb : 

Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much. 

But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy breast 

This lust of treasure — folly at the best ! 

For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb, 

To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom ? 

ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy songster, perch'd above, 
On the summit of the grove, 
"Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing 
With the freedom of a king. 
From thy perch survey the fields 
Where prolific nature yields 
Nought that, willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 
For hostility or hate 
None thy pleasures can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing 
Sweetly the return of spring, 
Herald of the genial hours, 
Harming neither herbs nor flowers:* 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly — thou and he are friends; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains, 
Phoebus or the muse disdains 
As too simple or toolong, 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, 
Ever singing, sporting, playing, 
What has nature else to show 
Grodlike in its kind as thou ] 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 



513 



ON NIOBE. 

Charon ! receive a family on board, 
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl, 

Apollo and Diana, for a word 
By me too proudly spoken, slew us all. 

ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY. 

Kich, thou hadst many lovers — poor, hast none, 

So surely want extinguishes the flame, 
And she who call'd thee once her pretty one, 

And her Adonis, now inquires thy name. 
Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where, 

In what strange country can thy parents live, 
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware 

That want's a crime no woman can forgive 1 

FROM MENANDER. 

Fond youth ! who dream'st that hoarded gold 

Is needful, not alone to pay 
Fur all thy various items sold, 

To serve the wants of every day ; 
Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat, 

For savoury viands season' d high ; 
But somewhat more important yet — 

I tell thet vrnat it cannot buy. 
Nu treasure, hadst thou more amass'd 

Than fame to Tantalus assign'd, 
Would save thee from a tomb at last, 

But thou must leave it all behind. 
I give thee, therefore, counsel wise ; 

Confide not vainly in thy store, 
However large — much less despise 

Others comparatively poor ; 
But in thy more exalted state 

A just and equal temper show, 
That all who see thee rich and great, 

May deem thee worthy to be so. 

ON PALLAS BATHING, FROM A HYMN OF CALLIMACEUS. 

Nor oils of balmy scent produce, 
Nor mirror for Minerva's use, 
Ye nymphs who lave her ; she arrayM 
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. 
Not even when they left the skies. 
To seek on Ida's head the prize 
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign, 
Or Pallas in the crystal plain 
Of Simois' stream her locks to trace, 
Or in the mirror's polish'd face, 
Though Venus oft with anxious care 
Adjusted twice a single hair. 



514 



C0WPERS POEMS. 



TO DEMOSTHENES. 

It flatters and deceives thy view. 

This mirror of ill-polish'd ore; 
For, were it just, and told thee true, 

Thou wouldst consult it never more. 

ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER. 

You give your cheeks a rosy stain, 

With washes dye your hair ; 
But paint and washes both are vain 

To give a youthful air. 
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil, 

No labour will efface 'em, 
You wear a mask of smoothest oil, 

Yet still with ease we trace 'em. 
An art so fruitless then forsake, 

Which though you much excel in, 
You never can contrive to make 

Old Hecuba young Helen. 

ON AN UGLY FELLOW. 

Beware, my friend ! of crystal brook, 
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook, 

Thy nose, thou chance to see ; 
Narcissus' fate would then be thine, 
And self-detested thou wouldst pine, 

As self-enamour'd he. 

ON A THIEF. 

When Aulus, the nocturnal thief made prize 
Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of tte skies, 
Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine, 
Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine, 
And whom, as arbiter and overseer 
Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here ; p 
" Hermes," he cried, " you meet no new diaas 
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master.* 

ON ENVY. 

Pitt, says the Theban bard, 
From my wishes I discard ; 
Envy, let me rather be, 
Rather far, a theme for thee. 
Pity to distress is shown, 
Envy to the great alone — 
So the Theban — But to shine 
Less conspicuous be mine ! 
I prefer the golden mean, 
Pomp and penury between ; 
For alarm and peril wait 
Ever on the loftiest state, 
And the lowest to the end 
Obloquy and scorn attend. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK. 



515 



ON A BATTERED BEAUTY. 
Hair, wax, rouge, honey, teeth you buy, 

A multifarious store ! 
A mask at once would all supply, 

Nor would it cost you more. 

OX PEDIGREE. 

FROM EPICHARMUS. 

My mother ! if thou love me, name no more 
My noble birth ! Sounding at eTery breath 
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly, 
As to their only refuge, all from whom 
Nature withholds all good besides ; they boast 
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs 
Of their forefathers, and, from age to age 
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race : 
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name, 
Derived from no forefathers ] Such a man 
Lives not ; for how could such be born at all ? 
And, if it chance that, native of a land 
Far distant, or in infancy deprived 
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace 
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung 
From baser ancestry than theirs who can] 
My mother ! he whom nature at his birth 
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although 
An iEthiop and a slave, is nobly born. 

BY MOSCHUS. 

I slept when "Venus enter'd : to my '.. 
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led, 
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said : 

" Shepherd, receive my little one ! I bring 
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing." 
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought, 
Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught, 
How reed co reed Pan first with osier bound, 
How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound, 
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire 
Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre. 
Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he,, 
But ditties sang of amorous sort to me, 
The pangs that mortals and immortals prove 
•From Venus' influence and the darts of love. 
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught ; 
His lessons I retain'd, he mine forgot. 

BY PHILEMON. 

Oft we enhance our ills by discontent, 
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant. 
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry — 
' He's dead indeed, but he was born to die"— 
Such temperate grief is suited to the size 
And burden of the loss, is just and wise. 



618 cowper's poems. 



But to exclaim, " Ah! wherefore was I born, 
Thus to be left for ever thus forlorn T' 
Who thus laments his loss invites distress, 
And magnifies a woe that might be less, 
Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd, 
And leaving reason's remedy behind. 



EPIGKAMS 

TRANSLATED 

FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN. 



ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT. 

Thou mayst of double ignorance boast, 
Who know'st not that thou nothing knoVst, 

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY. 

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, 
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee ! 

SUNSET AND SUNRISE. 

Contemplate, when the sun declines, 
Thy death with deep reflection ! 

And when again he rising shines, 
The day of resurrection ! 

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. 

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend ; 
For when at worst, they say, things always mend* 

RETALIATION. 

The works of ancient bards divine, 
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read; 

And should posterity read thine, 
It would be strange indeed ! 

When little more than boy in age, 
I deem'd myself almost a sage : 
But now seem worthier to be styled, 
For ignorance, almost a child. 



THB E»i>. 



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► *£ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 



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